WAR  LETTERS 
FROM  FRANCE 


Columbia  ZBtttorgttp 

LIBRARY 


GIVEN   BY 


T^v-  *  *  i  d  jl  rS*1 


WAR  LETTERS 
FROM  FRANCE 


WAR  LETTERS 
FROM    FRANCE 


EDITED 
BY 

A.  de  LAPRADELLE 

AND 

FREDERIC  R.  COUDERT 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

1916 


Gift  c 


Copyright,  1916,  BT 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


34- 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  At  the  Front 3 

II.  In  the  Hospital 53 

III.  In  the  Heart  of  the  Country 79 

IV.  The  Future 87 

V.  Last  Letter 105 


PREFACE 


TO  A  FRENCHWOMAN  IN  AMERICA 

WE  used  to  meet  to  read  our  news  from  France ; 
the  letters  which  we  had  received  ourselves 
and  those  which  our  friends  had  received,  or  perhaps 
some  touching  passages  copied  from  a  friend's  letter 
by  a  sympathetic  hand.  Sometimes  there  were  brief 
cards  from  the  front,  hastily  penciled  between  two 
alarms ;  sometimes  there  were  long  missives  written 
in  the  enforced  leisure  of  the  hospital,  in  tottering 
strokes  with  the  feeling  of  langorous  repose  in  their 
tepid  ink.  There  were  letters  from  mourners,  too, 
bordered  in  broad  black  lines  and  written  in  large 
determined  strokes;  and  some  whose  telltale  pages 
still  kept  the  trace  of  tears.  There  were  messages  of 
grief  in  which  the  stricken  heart  of  wife  or  sister 
strove  in  vain  to  reach  or  to  maintain  the  supreme 
heights  of  a  mother's  anguished  calm.  We  read  and 
re-read  these  touching  letters.  We  were  French,  and 
it  seemed  as  though  they  were  written  to  us,  to  whom- 
ever they  were  addressed.  We  made  a  common  fund 
of  them,  the  better  to  appreciate  their  noble  courage 
and  hope.  And  when  our  American  friends,  finding 
us  after  the  reading  more  melancholy  and  yet  more 

vii 


PREFACE 

confident,  bowed  down  with  grief  but  still  sustained 
in  pride,  asked  hesitatingly,  "What  news?"  our  only 
reply  was  to  hand  them  the  letters  which  had  arrived 
on  the  week's  steamer. 

Our  American  friends,  too,  found  letters  from 
France  in  their  mail.  We  lent  them  ours  and  they 
offered  us  theirs  in  return.  Among  them  were  letters 
from  Frenchmen  at  the  front  and  in  the  hospitals, 
but  oftener  letters  of  officials  in  the  service  of  their 
fatherland  or  from  Americans  in  France  in  the  ser- 
vice of  humanity.  We  read  these  letters  with  great 
interest  and  wished  to  copy  them.  But  the  Americans 
in  America  are  more  practical  than  the  Frenchman 
in  America  and  much  more  practical  than  the  French- 
man in  France.  "Why  copy  these  letters?"  said 
one  American  friend.  "Print  them  and  publish  them 
for  the  benefit  of  your  compatriots,  the  old  men  and 
the  women  and  children  who  are  suffering  the  torments 
of  this  war."  Your  kind  heart  kindled  immediately 
at  this  suggestion:  you  begged  our  letters  of  us. 
And  when  you  beg,  madam — is  it  always  so  or  only 
when  you  beg  for  France? — one  cannot,  one  dare 
not  refuse. 

What  will  our  correspondents  say?  They  thought 
they  were  writing  for  our  eyes  alone.  What  re- 
proaches may  they  not  heap  on  us  when  they  see 
that  we  have  given  to  the  public  their  private  mes- 
sages without  more  alteration  than  the  elimination 

viii 


PREFACE 

of  a  few  details  of  too  personal  or  too  insignificant 
a  nature  to  be  printed?  Have  we  the  right  to  allow 
these  self-revelations  of  our  friends,  made  in  the  un- 
constraint  of  privacy,  to  pass  from  hand  to  hand 
among  strangers?  "Yes,"  you  replied,  "for  out  of 
all  these  revelations  of  courage,  of  suffering,  of  hope, 
there  comes  one  single  great  revelation — the  heart  of 
France.  And  the  portrait  of  the  France  that  we  see 
in  these  letters  is  all  the  more  true,  all  the  more  faith- 
ful, as  it  is  painted  from  life,  without  constraint  or 
pose,  caught  without  warning  and  left  without  re- 
touching. Moreover  this  portrait  of  France  is  not 
theirs  or  ours  to  keep.  In  this  crisis,  when  every- 
one is  offering  his  all  to  the  fatherland,  how  can 
they  keep  for  themselves  any  part  of  their  experi- 
ence— that  is,  any  part  of  the  experience  of  France — 
France,  our  country  which  asks  nothing  but  justice, 
has  nothing  to  fear  from  truth?" 

From  the  moment  of  your  response,  I  was  the 
accomplice  of  your  purpose.  I  gave  you  the  best 
of  my  letters.  I  begged  others,  even  perhaps  to  the 
point  of  indiscretion.  You  were  persuasive;  and 
taught  by  you,  I  became  exacting,  some  even  said 
tyrannical.  The  precious  booty  was  carefully  in- 
ventoried, catalogued  and  classified.  There  were  the 
letters  of  the  fighters  and  the  wounded,  letters  to 
relatives  and  friends,  letters  still  more  sacred — for 
have  you  not  coaxed  from  me  even  the  letter  of  a 

ix 


PREFACE 

little  child?  There  were  letters  from  scholars,  from 
artists,  from  simple  honest  people,  Frenchmen  and 
Americans;  letters  from  the  front  and  from  the 
rear;  letters  from  the  hospital  and  from  the  hearth- 
stone; letters  from  the  country  and  from  the  city. 
They  have  all  been  sorted,  translated,  annotated  by 
friendly  hands  with  the  delicacy  of  touch  appropri- 
ate to  pages  which  record  in  suffering  and  sympathy 
such  noble  wealth  of  courage,  pride  and  undying 
hope. 

We  have  taken  rigorous  pains  not  to  alter  the 
slightest  phrase.  These  letters  are  the  spontaneous 
testimony  to  the  moral  grandeur  of  a  nation:  and 
the  testimony  is  not  revised,  it  is  simply  received. 
This  is  not  a  work  of  literature,  but  a  tribute  to 
humanity.  In  these  few  pages,  suffering,  courage 
and  hope  speak  their  simple  language.  And  it  would 
be  unpardonable  in  me,  if,  after  this  explanation  of 
your  charitable  purpose,  I  were  any  longer  to  keep 
those  who  are  anxious  to  share  in  the  message  of 
these  letters  from  listening  to  their  sincere  and 
touching  words. 

If  we  put  the  seashell  to  our  ear,  we  hear  the 
eternal  murmur  of  the  infinite  ocean.  Have  we  not 
reason  to  believe  that  from  a  few  simple  letters  we 
can  hear  the  heartbeat  of  a  nation? 

A.  de  Lapradelle 

July  14,  1915. 


I 

AT  THE  FRONT 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 


AT  THE  FRONT 

EARLIEST  LETTERS 

ON  the  eighth  of  September  a  troop  of  soldiers 
were  retreating  from  the  north.     Up  to  the 
very  environs   of  Paris  their  confidence  and 
hope    remained    unshaken.      An    infantry    sergeant 
writes : 

Our  retreat  as  far  as  Provins  has  been  exhaust- 
ing: marches  and  counter-marches,  engagements,  et 
cetera,  and  the  Germans  chasing  us  hard  all  the  time 
to  prevent  our  crossing  the  Oise,  and  then  the  Aisne, 
and  then  the  Marne.     I  do  my  duty  through  it  all. 

On  the  ninth  of  September,  the  cavalry  sergeant 
A.  F.  writes  from  Alsace: 

We  have  been  hearing  the  enemy's  cannon  fre- 
quently.    We  all  have  the  greatest  confidence.     We 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

are  more  than  ever  convinced  of  the  success  of 
our  arms,  the  final  victory  that  shall  crown  our 
efforts.  In  spite  of  our  fatigues  we  shall  conquer  in 
the  end. 


On  the  eighth  of  September,  1914,  a  lieutenant 
writes  from  Alsace: 

Our  unit,  composed  entirely  of  reservists,  as  well 
as  the  whole  division  to  which  it  belongs,  was  rapidly 
assembled,  and  thanks  to  the  fine  spirit  animating 
every  man,  we  were  able  to  start  immediately  for  the 
firing  line.  We  entered  Alsace  in  order  to  cooperate 
in  the  movement  directed  against  Strasburg.  The 
movement,  as  you  know,  failed.     We  had  to  retreat. 

During  this  retreat,  foot  by  foot,  there  was  no 
weakening  of  the  endurance  of  the  troops. 

In  this  movement  my  battery  took  part  in  a  skir- 
mish and  in  a  very  violent  engagement  in  which  the 
number  of  Germans  lost  amounted  to  a  high  figure. 
During  eight  days  of  struggle  we  took  only  two  or 
three  hours'  rest  a  night.  The  morale  of  our  troops 
has  been  excellent,  and  these  early  affairs  show  that 
our  reserve  troops  may  prove  a  useful  factor  in  the 
battles  to  come.  Retiring  to  recover  from  our  losses 
and  get  some   rest,  we  have  resumed  our  advance. 

4 


AT  THE  FRONT 

Little  by  little  we  are  regaining  the  lost  territory  in 
the  region  of  the  Vosges. 

Here  the  letter  was  stopped  by  the  receipt  of 
marching  orders.  It  continued  a  little  later  with 
the  following  vivid  descriptive  passage: 

The  flames  of  a  village  destroyed  by  shell  fire,  a 
livid  moonlight  and  a  terrific  storm,  such  were  the 
precursors  of  our  entrance  this  morning  into  a  pretty 
village  of  the  Vosges,  where  a  dozen  houses  were 
gutted,  burned  or  totally  demolished  by  shells. 
Chickens  were  pecking  at  the  door-sills  of  the  de- 
serted houses.  That  is  war!  Our  men  might  have 
been  put  in  bad  humor  by  all  this.  But  no !  Their 
witty  remarks  cheered  the  situation.  They  are  laugh- 
ing and  chatting  now,  while  the  German  bombs  are 
falling  not  far  from  us,  whistling  through  the  air 
with  metallic  shrieks,  followed  by  frightful  explo- 
sions. Our  men  are  getting  used  to  this  music  of  a 
special  style. 

But  soon  the  advance  was  stopped  and  the  soldiers 
intrenched.     The  letter  continues  September  30: 

For  the  last  five  days  we  have  made  no  advance, 
being  busily  engaged  in  intrenching  positions  which 
seem  to  be  impregnable.  When  we  halt  we  have  a 
chance  to  rest  and  we  have  taken  full  advantage  of 

5 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

these  five  days  of  rest  with  their  beautiful  sunny 
weather  to  get  slicked  up  a  bit.  It  is  a  picturesque 
scene,  this  taking  a  bath  between  your  trunk  on  the 
left  (if  you  can  call  our  little  kit-case  with  its  sup- 
ply of  necessary  toilet  articles  a  trunk)  and  your 
uniform  on  the  right,  with  the  revolver  within  easy 
reach  to  seize  in  a  jiffy  if  the  alarm  is  sounded.  But 
once  cleaned  up  and  dressed  in  fresh  linen  what  a 
joy  it  is  to  stretch  out  on  the  grass  in  the  sun  with- 
out thought  of  time!  For  we  sleep  at  any  moment 
and  so  peacefully.  Suddenly  a  light  touch  on  the 
shoulder :  "Lieutenant !"  A  man  stands  before  you 
with  his  heels  together,  and  with  a  smile  hands 
you  a  bit  of  paper:  "March  during  the  formation 
of  the  Echelons,  direction  2.  .  .  .  I"  We  are  up 
with  a  jump  and  get  our  uniforms  buttoned.  A  crisp 
order  and  the  sleepers  are  on  their  feet  and  on  their 
horses.  The  horses  start  with  a  scratch  and  a 
scramble,  the  camp  is  broken.  The  battery  wakes 
up  too.  We  are  feeding  our  ogres — modern  ostriches 
that  swallow  powder  and  copper  voraciously  with  an 
incredible  iron  digestion.  Then  all  panting  and  smok- 
ing after  their  deadly  attack  on  the  enemy  these 
monstrous  beasts  stop  and  give  us  a  new  period  of 
repose. 

The  soldiers  spent  their  period  of  repose  talking 
with  the  inhabitants  who  by  the  Mayor's  proclama- 


AT  THE  FRONT 

tion  had  remained  in  the  villages  that  had  just  been 
evacuated  by  the  German  rear  guard. 

The  good  woman  in  whose  house  our  lieutenant 
was  quartered  told  him  the  following  story  of  the 
occupation : 

The  worthy  old  lady  with  a  black  cap  on  her 
white  locks,  her  face  lighted  by  the  flame  of  the 
wood  fire  burning  on  the  hearth,  keeps  up  a  tireless 
flow  of  anecdote,  while  the  little  granddaughter  at 
her  side  listens  with  wide  open  mouth.  This  woman 
seems  to  me  to  personify  the  entire  French  race, 
gifted  with  a  good  share  of  commonsense  and  with 
intelligence  not  entirely  devoid  of  malicious  roguish- 
ness.  In  language  filled  with  an  imaginative  quality 
she  describes  the  departure  of  her  three  sons  and  her 
two  sons-in-law — all  reservists.  From  two  of  these 
men  she  has  received  no  word  since  the  war  began, 
and  when  one  speaks  of  them  a  shadow  steals  over 
her  face  giving  it  that  stamp  of  grandeur  which 
grief  heroically  borne  impresses.  She  told  me  about 
the  conversations  she  had  with  the  Germans  many 
of  whom  could  speak  French;  how  insufferable  and 
naive  they  were  in  their  arrogance.  Then  she  told 
of  their  retreat  and  the  sudden  arrival  at  a  gallop 
of  two  little  chasseurs,  blue  as  the  summer  sky,  plain 
brave  little  chasseurs !  "What  a  pity  you  are  on 
horseback,"  she  said.  "Why,  mother?"  "Because  I 
should  like  to  kiss  you."     "Don't  let  a  little  thing 

7 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

like  that  stop  you,"  they  cried,  and  were  on  the 
ground  in  a  minute.  "What  a  good  kiss  I  gave 
them,  monsieur;  it  was  as  if  one  of  my  own  boys 
had  come  back.  Then  amid  cheers  and  flowers  they 
rode  off  toward  the  forest  with  a  squadron  of  ten, 
on  the  track  of  the  last  Uhlans  who  had  left  the 
village  two  hours  before.  We  never  saw  them  again." 
Isn't  that  the  very  soul  of  France? 

Between  the  Marne  and  the  Aisne  Sergeant  A.  H. 
writes  to  his  uncle  on  September  26,  1914: 

The  retreat  is  over  and  the  offensive  resumed  at 
Provins.  We  are  twelve  kilometers  west  of  Rheims, 
facing  the  enemy's  center  which  is  making  a  fine  re- 
sistance. Their  men  are  fighters  and  they  are  well 
led.  I  have  seen  them  hold  their  ground  for  hours 
at  a  stretch  in  the  driving  rain,  which  shows  that 
their  morale  and  their  courage  are  good.  Our  re- 
servists who  arrived  yesterday  and  were  incorpo- 
rated with  the  regulars  have  held  firm  under  the 
baptism  of  shells  and  grape-shot. 

On  the  twenty-eighth  of  September,  1914,  J.  T., 
a  very  quiet  man  in  ordinary  life,  writes  the  follow- 
ing excited  letter,  without  superscription  of  date  or 
place : 

Courage  good — always  on  my  feet — bullets 
through    my    coat    twice — covered    with    the    dirt 

8 


AT  THE  FRONT 

plowed  up  by  shells — but  as  yet  uninjured.  Will 
tell  you  perhaps  some  day  the  tragic  details.  They 
are  glorious  and  sublime.  We  are  bearing  every- 
thing with  absolute  confidence  in  our  victory.  Vic- 
tory !  That  was  the  word  on  our  lips  when  we  parted 
at  Paris.  Let  us  repeat  it,  never  forgetting  the  men 
who  have  fallen.  If  I  don't  come  back  you  know 
that  I  shall  have  done  my  duty. 

And  the  writer  kept  his  word.  Wounded  by  a 
bursting  shell  in  January,  he  was  taken  to  the  hos- 
pital at  Lyon.  The  wound  was  slight  and  he  could 
write  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  March: 

I  am  going  back  to  my  place  in  the  orchestra 
seats. 

J.  D.,  who  has  not  had  a  chance  to  wash  for  two 
weeks,  who  sleeps  on  the  ground,  and  has  his  ears 
continuously  rilled  with  the  roars  of  cannon  and 
musketry,  declares  with  simplicity  in  a  letter  of 
September  26,  1914: 

I  love  this  life  of  bivouac  though  the  stormy 
nights  are  hard.  What  I  like  most  about  it  is  being 
in  the  free  air  and  having  a  feeling  of  unforeseen 
danger,  the  sense  of  uncertainty  and  suspense.  When 
the  cannon  is  still  at  night,  I  hear  the  groans  and 
the  death  rattle  of  the  wounded  who  have  not  been 
picked  up  in  front  of  the  trenches  facing  the  enemy. 

9 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

Our  recent  victories  have  strengthened  our  soldiers' 
confidence  until  now  they  are  regular  war  dogs  who 
don't  interrupt  their  cooking  when  the  shells  rain 
around  them — not  until  the  pieces  fall  into  the  kettle. 
Still  the  war  is  hard  and  they  are  waging  it  against 
us  without  mercy  or  humanity.  Quite  often  the 
Prussians  dispatch  our  wounded  soldiers  with  a  lance 
thrust  or  a  blow  with  the  butt  of  a  musket.  I  know 
what  I'm  talking  about  for  I  have  seen  it. 

On  the  fifth  of  October,  1914,  F.  writes  from  Fou- 
concourt  in  the  department  of  the  Somme : 

The  horrible  rain  of  iron  and  steel  that  hundreds 
of  infernal  machines  are  pouring  on  us  every  day 
cannot  dampen  our  courage.  It  is  a  grand  thing 
to  fight  for  a  holy  cause  like  this  of  France.  In  spite 
of  forty  continuous  days  of  battle  in  the  Vosges  and 
in  Picardie,  in  spite  of  forty  nights  passed  mostly 
in  icy  weather  under  the  naked  stars,  in  spite  of 
hunger,  rain  and  forced  marches,  and  in  the  midst 
of  horrors,  I  find  myself  admiring  the  sublime  for- 
ests of  the  Vosges,  the  picturesque  villages,  and  the 
gay  little  houses  of  red  brick. 

Another  soldier  writes  to  his  parents  on  the  seventh 
of  October,  1914: 

On  reading  my  letter  over  I  see  that  I  have  for- 
gotten to  tell  you  the  best  news  of  all.    The  general 

10 


AT  THE  FRONT 

in  command  of  our  Army  Corps  has  made  special 
mention  of  our  Battery  in  the  general  orders  and  has 
nominated  the  captain  for  the  Legion  of  Honor. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  warfare  in  the  trenches, 
which  the  French  trooper  copied  from  the  German 
army,  J.  B.  was  working  as  a  digger  generally  dur- 
ing the  night  or  in  the  foggy  weather.  On  October 
11,  1914,  he  writes: 

Our  intrenchments  are  composed  of  trenches  for 
the  riflemen  standing  up,  and  for  machine  guns  flush 
with  the  ground,  all  connected  by  cross-galleries  lead- 
ing to  sleeping  quarters,  to  rooms  for  the  care  of  the 
wounded,  to  subterranean  telephone  stations,  to  caves 
for  provisions — in  a  word  a  whole  subterranean  bar- 
racks. Our  "seventy-fives"  are  accomplishing  mar- 
vels. 

C.  writes: 

We  have  had  a  severe  test  in  Belgium.  Only  126 
out  of  256  are  left  in  our  company  and  not  a  single 
captain  in  the  regiment.  .  .  .  For  exactly  twenty- 
one  days  we  have  been  living  like  moles,  underground, 
solidly  intrenched  on  three  hills,  only  eight  or  nine 
hundred  meters  from  the  enemy. 

Lieutenant  G.  in  a  letter  written  to  reassure  his 
parents  cannot  refrain  from  expressing  his  wonder 
at  the  fairy-like  spectacle  presented  by  Autumn  in 
the  Vosges  : 

11 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

The  woods  are  varicolored.  A  green  meadow,  a 
large  white  mansion  with  broad  facade  and  red  roof, 
a  garden  in  which  two  roly-poly  little  chaps  are 
playing,  all  set  against  the  tawny  and  flashing  golds 
of  the  forest,  make  an  idyllic  picture.  One  would 
think  oneself  far  removed  from  anything  like  war, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  fact  that  two  hundred  meters 
further  on  one  reaches  a  hamlet  of  ten  or  fifteen 
houses  with  but  a  single  one  standing  intact.  Stray 
hens  were  pecking  here  and  there.  A  shutter  was 
pounding  lugubriously.  A  nauseating  odor  exhaled 
from  the  ruins,  and  side  by  side  on  a  manure  heap 
a  cow  eviscerated  by  a  shell  was  staring  with  its 
empty  eyes  at  a  rooster  crowing  his  deafening  cock- 
a-doodle-do  to  the  noonday  sun.  Life  and  death 
side  by  side.  In  other  villages  where  there  are  a 
few  houses  still  standing  one  gets  the  same  impres- 
sion. In  the  midst  of  the  ruins,  even  under  the  fire 
of  the  Prussian  cannons,  which  are  beginning  again 
to  pour  forth  destruction,  poor  folks  have  come 
back  to  clean  their  houses  and  get  in  their  hay. 
Life  and  death  side  by  side !  Indefatigable,  like  ants 
when  their  hill  is  destroyed,  the  men  begin  to  build 
anew.  Is  it  not  a  token  of  hope  for  the  future  of 
our  fatherland? 


There  is  such  literary  charm  in  these  simple  let- 
ters of  men  who  frankly  speak  their  noble  thoughts, 

12 


AT  THE  FRONT 

that  they  seem  hardly  inferior  to  this  beautiful  letter 
of  a  young  but  well-known  writer,  Louis  Madelin, 
now  Captain  Madelin,  the  historian  of  Danton  and 
Fouche,  and  author  of  the  history  of  the  French 
Revolution,  which  has  been  recently  crowned  with 
the  first  grand  Gobert  prize  by  the  French  Academy. 
From  Verdun,  one  of  the  gates  of  France  which  the 
Germans  are  especially  anxious  to  break  down,  Cap- 
tain Madelin  writes  on  the  fifth  of  November,  1914: 

From  the  day  when  the  admirable  courage  of  the 
Belgians  and  the  opportune  movement  of  General 
Joffre  defeated  their  rapid  drive,  the  Germans'  hope 
of  victory  was  forever  gone.  Very  slowly,  to  be 
sure,  but  very  steadily  our  grand  army  is  forcing 
them  back,  and  our  enemy's  main  task  now  is  to 
assure  a  safe  line  of  retreat.  I  say,  "our  grand 
army,"  for  it  is  true  that,  after  certain  mistakes 
due  to  inexperience,  our  soldiers  have  become  the 
same  grand  army  that  their  fathers  were,  that  out 
fathers  were.  They  lack  nothing  of  their  mettle, 
their  good  humor,  their  patriotic  faith,  their  martial 
spirit,  and  at  the  same  time  they  adapt  themselves 
wonderfully  to  the  modern  tactics,  to  the  patient, 
tenacious  plan  of  their  general  and  chief,  which  re- 
quires unfailing  steadfastness. 

I  get  letters  from  the  front  [as  if  he  were  not  at 
the  front  himself].  I  have  with  the  colors  three 
brothers,  two  brothers-in-laws,  three  nephews,  eigh- 
teen to  nineteen  years  old,  and  these  men  are  soldiers 

13 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

of  all  grades  in  every  rank  of  the  army.  They  write 
letters  fairly  brimming  with  courage  and  zeal.  Some 
of  them  have  been  wounded,  but  they  returned  as 
soon  as  possible  to  the  firing  line.  One  of  my 
brothers  took  some  Alsatian  villages.  He  saw  the 
colonel  and  five  out  of  six  of  the  captains  of  his 
battalion  of  Chasseurs  fall.  The  youngest  and  sole 
surviving  captain,  he  took  command  of  what  was 
left,  led  it  from  the  Vosges  to  the  Marne,  enforced 
marches  of  forty-five  kilometers  a  day,  keeping  its 
morale  intact  and  losing  not  a  single  man.  After 
fighting  like  a  lion  on  the  battlefield  of  the  Marne 
he  received  his  fourth  galoon,  richly  deserved,  from 
the  hands  of  the  general  of  the  army  corps.  He 
wrote  me  a  charming  letter  from  the  trenches  in  the 
North,  in  which  he  said  that  his  soldiers  (like  all 
the  rest)  were  accomplishing  prodigies  of  valor. 
Another  of  my  brothers,  on  the  staff  of  one  of  the 
corps,  dispatched  with  a  message  to  a  regiment  of 
cavalry,  found  the  regiment  without  colonel  or 
major.  He  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  troops 
and  hustled  a  strong  force  of  German  infantry.  I 
have  a  little  devil  of  a  nephew  who  enlisted  at  the 
age  of  eighteen  and  five  days  later  was  sent  to  the 
front.  He  fought  like  a  demon  with  the  light  in- 
fantry on  the  Marne  and  the  Aisne,  and  when  his 
shoulder  was  broken  by  a  bursting  shell  he  begged 
the  doctors  to  heal  it  quickly  so  that  he  could  return 

14s 


AT  THE  FRONT 

to  the  front.  Eighteen  years  old!  There's  your 
type  of  volunteer  that  shows  what  a  generation  we 
have  in  reserve,  and  with  what  spirit  they  will  march 
to  reconquer  lost  ground.  All  my  life  long  I  shall 
remember  the  first  night  of  my  command  of  a 
post  in  the  Woevre,  where  I  used  to  walk  with  my 
men,  the  citizens  and  fathers  of  the  region,  every  one 
of  them  ready  when  called  on  to  give  his  last  drop 
of  blood  for  the  fatherland. 

You  know  how  for  the  last  three  weeks  the  Germans 
have  been  spreading  the  news  that  Verdun  is  be- 
sieged, taken,  destroyed.  It  is  one  of  our  favorite 
jokes  here.  Whenever  an}7  one  of  us  is  going  to 
Verdun  we  tell  him  that  it  is  useless  to  start,  seeing 
that  Verdun  is  destroyed.  But  the  Germans  seem 
to  make  their  countrymen  swallow  any  kind  of  story. 
Yesterday  I  heard  a  German  prisoner  being  examined 
in  the  office  of  the  colonel  to  whose  staff  I  am  at- 
tached. The  fellow  had  been  before  Verdun  for 
eight  weeks,  and  yet  he  stupidly  persisted  in  his 
assertion  that  Verdun  was  captured.  I  cannot  find 
words  to  express  the  absolute  confidence  of  our  men 
in  the  final  success  of  our  arms.  Even  during  those 
terrible  weeks  when  General  Joffre  tested  their  faith 
to  its  utmost  there  was  no  wavering.  Equally  inde- 
scribable are  the  spirit  of  genial  comradeship  and  of 
self-sacrifice.  We  would  all  devote  ourselves  to 
death,  we  would  even  devote  our  young  sons  to  death, 

15 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

if  thereby  we  could  unite  Alsace-Lorraine  to  France 
in  six  months  or  twelve  months  or  sixteen  months, 
or  in  any  number  of  months.  I  am  in  the  best  of 
health  and  spirits. 

Then  follows  a  line  in  which  we  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  secret  thought  of  one  of  those  Frenchmen  who 
are  unjustly  accused  of  wishing  or  having  wished  for 
a  war  of  revenge,  whereas  in  reality  they  were  grow- 
ing ever  more  convinced  that  France  would  never 
assume  the  responsibility  before  history  of  bringing 
on  such  a  war. 

I  see  the  dream  which  I  cherished  in  my  childhood, 
but  which  I  had  begun  to  despair  of  ever  seeing 
realized,  now  coming  true. 


From  Morcourt  in  the  department  of  the  Somme 
on  the  seventh  of  November,  1914,  F.  describes  the 
warfare  of  the  moles: 

Imagine  the  life  that  our  soldiers  are  leading  at 
the  present  moment;  eight  days  and  nights  at  a 
stretch,  sometimes  even  more,  in  the  trenches.  And 
these  men,  who  are  sometimes  only  eighty  meters 
distant  from  the  Boches,1  have  to  be  provisioned. 
You  see  the  constant  danger  to  which  our  reservists 


i  A    slang   term    applied    to    the    Germans    by   the    French 
soldiers  in  the  trenches. 

16 


AT  THE  FRONT 

and  even  our  territorials1  are  exposed.  One  must 
confess  that  our  chasseurs  are  inspired  with  wonder- 
ful courage. 

The  first  of  November  there  was  a  sudden  attack. 
We  arrived  near  midnight  before  a  village  in  which 
seven  or  eight  houses  were  occupied  by  the  enemy. 
We  took  the  houses  one  by  one  by  bayonet  charges, 
by  mining  and  by  cannon.  For  three  days  and  nights 
we  stood  attack  after  attack  from  the  enemy.  It 
is  the  most  terrible  conflict  that  I  have  ever  seen. 
We  made  hundreds  of  prisoners,  and  picked  up  the 
wounded  whom  they  quite  generally  abandoned  on 
the  field.  At  least  four  out  of  every  ten  spoke  French. 
Many  of  them  were  not  more  than  seventeen  or  eigh- 
teen years  old,  had  seen  no  military  service,  and 
seemed  in  a  state  of  great  demoralization. 

Shall  we  ever  return?  What  does  it  matter?  We 
march  on.  Some  fall,  others  advance,  and  the  fright- 
ful drama  continues  to  unroll  before  the  eyes  of  the 
dazed  nations. 

From  day  to  day  the  troops  grew  more  inured 
to  war.  On  the  fourteenth  of  November,  1914,  Lieu- 
tenant L.  G.  tells  this  amusing  story: 

The  Boches  came  to  visit  us,  bringing  a  convoy 


*A  reserve  force  of  citizens  corresponding  roughly  to  the 
German  Landsturm. 

17 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

of  wagons  to  take  away  the  food  which  we  were 
expected  to  leave  behind  us  on  our  retreat;  the 
food  that  they  took  away  in  those  same  wagons  con- 
sisted of  corpses  cut  to  pieces  by  our  "seventy-fives." 
A  week  later  to  the  day  we  returned  their  visit.  But 
they  failed  to  duplicate  our  politeness.  They  didn't 
send  us  back  home.  Truly  their  Kultur  still  lacks 
something  in  refinement. 

Sometimes  there  is  a  touch  of  bitterness  noticeable 
in  the  letters  of  the  men  at  the  front  who  find  their 
exploits  not  quite  sufficiently  appreciated  in  the 
official  communications. 

The  day  before  yesterday  they  did  us  the  honor 
of  sending  us  an  official  communication.  We  had 
been  in  a  fight,  had  seen  loaded  ambulances  going  to 
the  rear,  had  crossed  woods  filled  with  corpses  and 
passed  ravaged  farms;  and  we  said  to  each  other, 
"What  a  battle  it  has  been!"  No  wonder  we  were 
somewhat  astonished  to  read  in  our  official  communi- 
cation, "Situation  unchanged  in  the  Lorraine  and 
in  the  Vosges." 

On  Thursday  the  Boches  stirred  a  bit.  They 
came  to  see  what  we  were  doing.  We  taught  them 
the  pas  de  quatre  and  we  played  them  a  pretty  tune 
for  it.  They  learned  their  lesson  quickly.  Two 
hundred  of  them  were  left  on  the  field.  It  was  not 
much  and  yet  the  official  report  simply  announced: 

18 


AT  THE  FRONT 

"The  Germans  attacked  our  outposts  between  Bla- 
mont  and  Baccarate,  and  their  attack  was  completely 
stopped."  In  reality  they  were  thrown  violently 
back  on  Blamont. 

Do  not  imagine  that  the  soldier  is  bored.  He  has 
his  friends  and  his  sweetheart. 

Sweethearts!  Don't  be  astonished.  Their  names 
are  Gaby,  Madelon  and  Sylvia.  Gaby  is  a  little  per- 
son, plump,  with  an  odor  of  wild  cherry  about  her. 
I  never  spend  more  than  ten  minutes  or  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  with  her.  Sylvia  is  more  slender  and  frail. 
She  smells  of  the  autumn  heather  and  I  talk  with 
her  for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes.  As  for  Madelon, 
she  is  a  grand  lady  in  her  splendid  brown  dress  with 
gold  trimmings.  She  is  very  cultivated,  too,  and  I 
spend  twenty-five  minutes  or  half  an  hour  with  her. 
Gaby,  Sylvia  and  Madelon  are — pipes.  During  the 
long  anxious  hours  of  suspense  one  hardly  knows 
what  to  do.  It  is  impossible  to  read  or  write,  for 
one  has  to  be  ready  to  start  at  the  first  signal.  So 
we  smoke  our  pipes.  One  of  my  men  carved  Gaby 
for  me  from  a  branch  of  wild  cherry.  Madelon  and 
Sylvia  were  presents  from  my  subordinate  officers. 
So  much  for  my  sweethearts.  As  for  my  friend  he 
is  a  very  devoted  personage,  very  silent  and  always 
with  me.  He  lies  at  my  feet  with  his  honest  brown 
eyes  fixed  on  me  until  he  drops  asleep.     He  is  a 

19 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

wonderful  scout  and  guide.  Moose  is  his  name — 
a  black  and  yellow  water  dog  who  got  himself 
adopted  on  the  tenth  of  September  and  has  never 
left  me  since. 


From  time  to  time  interesting  events  happen.  J.  F. 
writes  from  the  advanced  trenches  on  November  30, 
1914,  telling  how  the  coffee,  which  was  generally 
late,  arrived  a  day  in  advance: 

Ah,  the  fine  surprise !  It  was  brought  by  a  Boche 
who  had  got  lost  in  the  fog.  It  was  a  regular  god- 
send. We  gulped  down  the  "juice"  with  glee,  we 
even  gave  the  Boche  himself  some.  Then  two  men 
and  a  corporal  led  him  to  the  colonel's  quarters. 

After  an  excursus  on  strategy  offered  with  a 
layman's  modesty,  Lieutenant  L.  turns  to  poetry  and 
pens  the  following: 

Nocturne. 

The  moon  steals  softly  o'er  the  vast  gray  sky, 
And  throws  along  the  trench  its  shadow  lean, 
Where  brave  men,  scornful  of  the  shrapnel,  lie, 
Their  bed  a  truss  of  straw,  their  roof  a  screen. 
Before  each  section  lies  the  scanty  guard, 
The  heights  above  are  black  with  thicket  walls. 
Past  rick  and  windmill  looms  the  huge  facade 
Of  the  cathedral,  dumb  till  vengeance  calls. 

20 


AT  THE  FRONT 

Sharp  from  the  crest  a  sudden  fusillade 
That  spreads  along  the  front  in  enfilade! 
The  rattling  musketry  and  whistling  lead 
Wake  us  to  wait  in  calm  restraint,  until 
A  hidden  cannon  from  its  earthy  bed 
Shatters  the  living  air — and  all  is  still.1 

IN  THE  TRENCHES,  December  7,  1914. 

"1914" 

Within  his  palace  sat  the  Emperor, 
Worn  thin  and  whetted  sharp  by  the  grim  Fate 
That  rules  the  issue  of  this  troubled  age. 
Hoping  to  banish  thus  his  deepening  gloom, 
He  gazed  upon  a  map  which  showed  the  World. 
Forth  from  his  eyes  there  flashed  a  gleam  of  pride 
As  soon  as  he  had  passed  his  Empire's  bounds. 
He  looked  upon  it  all,  and  cried  with  joy — 
"The  World — the  Universe — shall  be  my  prey/' 
But  his  eyes  faded,  and  he  knit  his  brows, 
His  heart  was  wrung  with  unaccustomed  care. 
With  haughty  gesture,  then,  he  took  the  map, 

i  La  lune  glisse  dans  le  champ  du  grand  ciel  gris, 
Elle  eclaire  en  passant  le  fond  de  la  tranchee, 
Ou  nous  sommes  restes  meprisant!  les  obus, 
De  la  paille  pour  lit  et  pour  toit,  une  claie. 
Un  petit  poste  git  devant  chaque  section, 
Sur  la  crete,  de  noir  buissons.     Dans  l'intervalle, 
Une  meule,  un  moulin.     A  droite,  a  l'horizon, 
Muette,    jusqu'au   chatiment,    la   cath6drale.  .   .   . 

De  la  crete  soudain  part  une  fusillade, 

Puis,  gagnant  tout  le  front  des  feux  en  enfilade, 

Et  chacun  se  redresse  a  leur  crepitement 

Les  balles  sifflent,  claquent.    Mais  nous,  Impassibles, 

Attendons   qu'un   seul   de   nos   canons   invisibles 

Ebranle   l'air   meurtri  d'un  long  dechirement. 

21 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

But,  shaken  through  with  passion,  let  it  fall, 

"The  Universe,"  said  he,  "shall  soon  be  mine, 

But  not  until  I  shall  have  crushed  forever 

The  legions  of  the  Czar;  while,  as  for  England, 

I'll  drive  her  to  the  utmost  ends  of  earth, 

With  her,  Japan  shall  be  quite  blotted  out, 

Leaving  no  sign  to  meet  my  ocean  path. 

Austria  and  France  had  both  been  brought  to  naught, 

The  French  seemed  weary  of  their  silent  woe; 

Three  weeks  will  be  enough  to  throttle  them. 

Accounts  with  all  the  rest  will  soon  be  settled, 

The  English  and  the  Russians,  whom  we  scorn, 

My  faithful  Prussians  quickly  shall  enslave; 

My  power  will  overtop  Napoleon's, 

For  treacherous  Albion  I  shall  bring  to  earth, 

And  the  Cossacks,  the  Czar  thinks  none  can  crush, 

Shall  serve  as  targets  for  my  great  Krupp  guns. 

The  French  shall  find  some  grace  in  my  disdain, 

For  'tis  my  wish  to  rule  the  Universe 

From  Paris  as  my  Empire's  capital. 

Greater  than  Charlemagne  shall  I  be  known. 

For  to  the  Continents,  all  overspread 

With  Germany,  and  bowed  beneath  her  yoke, 

America  will  easily  be  joined. 

The  whole  round  world  shall  have  my  whim  for  law, 

And  over  all  its  races,  cowed  and  chained, 

Shall  float  my  eagle,  with  its  sable  wings." 

He  spoke,  and  over  Europe,  half  asleep, 

Let  loose  the  greatest  cataract  of  blood 

That  History's  page  has  e'er  blushed  to  record. 

To  block  the  road  whereby  he  sought  his  goal, 

A  little  folk  set  up  a  scrap  of  paper. 

He  answered  only:  "Punish  them  straightway!'* 

But  now,  to  the  amazement  of  the  world, 

This  little  folk  took  up  the  gage  of  war, 

22 


AT  THE  FRONT 

Thus  by  one  act  keeping  their  plighted  faith, 

And  strengthening  the  bonds  of  the  Allies, 

While  Belgian  soil  became  a  Prussian  grave. 

In  vain  the  Emperor  poured  forth  his  troops. 

Our  own,  submerged  a  moment  by  their  flood, 

Took  heart  from  Belgium's  heroic  stand, 

And  barred  the  way  to  Paris  'gainst  the  foe. 

Von  Kluck  let  slip  the  prize  of  victory, 

Reft  from  him  by  the  arrogant  disdain 

Nursed  in  the  bosom  of  the  Kaiser's  heir. 

They  scarce  had  time  to  flee  on  every  side, 

Shielded  by  ramparts  built  of  comrades  slain. 

In  vain  these  modern  Vandals  spent  their  fury 

Against  the  fabric  of  our  sacred  fanes. 

For,  as  they  fell,  our  glorious  Cathedrals — 

Rheims  and  Louvain — sounded  the  call  to  arms ; 

And  from  the  foeman's  guns  the  hail  of  iron 

Fell  impotent  against  a  living  wall. 

'Mid  all  the  bloodshed,  on  the  rim  of  morning, 

Appears  the  rising  sun  of  Victory, 

And  all  our  souls,  after  our  days  of  darkness, 

Are  kindled  into  flame  by  its  glad  rays. 

For,  after  giving  Austria  her  death  wound, 

The  Russians  turn  to  meet  the  Prussian  foe. 

The  Man  in  White,  announced  of  old  by  Prophets. 

Advances,  with  all  Russia  at  his  back. 

Beneath  the  first  wave  almost  overwhelmed, 

The  Prussians  barely  make  good  their  escape; 

To  meet  the  rising  tide  about  his  borders 

The  whole  of  William's  army  scarce  sufficed. 

But  now  from  France  the  tide  is  mounting  high; 

Fleeing  before  this  merciless  array, 

Which  he,  before,  had  held  in  such  disdain, 

He,  known  to  all  men  as  the  mighty  War  Lord, 

Sought  to  escape  the  vision  of  his  doom, 

And  like  a  madman  fled  across  his  realm. 

23 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

Then,  in  a  little  hamlet  of  Alsace, 
Retaken  by  our  arms,  the  villagers 
Gathered  together  at  the  school,  and  stood. 
A  death-like  silence  reigned,  when  suddenly- 
Appeared  before  their   eyes; — Oh,   glorious   day! — 
Smiling  and  calm,  the  General  in  Chief, 
Whose  master  hand  had  wrought  for  them  their  freedom. 
Their  hearts  and  his,  all  drunk  with  noble  joy, 
Melted  together  in  a  common  rapture. 
Then  in  a  voice,  tender  as  a  caress, 
He  spoke:  "Henceforth  forever  are  ye  Frenchmen !" 
No  more;  but  eloquence  was  never  heard 
Which  better  could  express  his  deepest  thought. 
To  these,  so  long  beneath  the  tyrant's  heel, 
These  simple  words  meant  that  from  that  day  forth 
They  all  should  have  the  right  to  think  free  thoughts, 
To  live  in  freedom  on  their  fathers'  lands, 
Freely  to  hail  as  brother  every  Frenchman, 
And  that  each  household  very  soon  should  see 
Its  scattered  sons  returning  to  the  hearth, 

This  young  and  very  brilliant  Normalien,  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  was  killed  under  the  following  cir- 
cumstances, which  are  described  in  this  letter  from 
the  director  of  the  Ecole  Normale: 

June  5,  1915. 

Lieutenant  Leguy  was  designated  to  take  com- 
mand of  this  half-section.  He  knew  that  his  mission 
was  a  hard  one;  but  full  of  confidence  in  his  men 
and  in  himself,  he  felt  equal  to  his  task  and  never 
ceased  to  repeat:  "To  conquer  without  peril  is  to 
triumph  without  glory."     With  admirable  presence 

24 


AT  THE  FRONT 

of  mind  and  calm  he  organized  his  attack,  and  he 
himself  had  sandbags  piled  up  like  a  stairway,  so  as 
to  enable  the  men  to  get  out  more  quickly;  no  detail 
escaped  him.  With  untiring  activity  he  went  every- 
where, encouraging  one,  explaining  to  another,  giv- 
ing all  a  kind  word. 

At  last,  at  14:35  o'clock,  after  a  violent  bombard- 
ment, the  charge  was  sounded;  it  was  the  signal  for 
the  assault.  A  sharp  fire  greets  our  men;  the  re- 
volving cannon,  the  machine-guns  spit  without  pause ; 
shells  reach  our  line  in  volleys:  it  is  certain  death 
for  any  man  who  shows  his  head  above  the  parapet. 

Lieutenant  Leguy,  however,  climbs  the  slope,  and 
calmly  leaves  the  trench,  his  saber  raised;  his  men, 
led  by  his  example,  follow  him  without  hesitation, 
and  this  handful  of  brave  men  disappears  in  a  cloud 
of  smoke.    .    .    . 

The  most  part  are  mowed  down;  one  of  them  re- 
turns, his  face  bloody,  and  falls  senseless  in  the 
trench.  Lieutenant  Leguy  also  returns  :  he  is  alone ; 
all  his  men  have  remained  over  there;  but  his  mis- 
sion is  not  fulfilled:  he  is  not  wounded  and  he  wishes 
to  go  back.  He  then  asks  for  another  handful  of 
brave  men,  twenty  men ;  all  those  who  are  there  raise 
their  hands,  and  he  sets  out  again  with  them,  shout- 
ing:  "Forward,  my  children,  for  France!" 

The  wave  of  bullets  mows  down  these  volunteers 
like  the  first.    Leguy  still  remains  standing  with  two 

25 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

or  three  men;  he  marches  straight  towards  the  Ger- 
man trench;  he  sees  it  full  of  Boches;  he  fires  his 
revolver  at  them,  and  encourages  his  men  to  throw 
bombs  and  grenades. 

But  such  heroism  could  not  obtain  grace  from 
death.  After  a  short  struggle,  he  fell,  struck  by  an 
exploding  shell.  He  still  had  the  strength  to  drag 
himself  to  his  trench,  and  after  gathering  together 
his  failing  forces  to  give  his  information  to  his  cap- 
tain, and  to  tell  him  his  fear  of  seeing  the  Boches 
appearing  on  our  right,  he  breathed  his  last,  crying : 
"Vive  la  France !" 

A  comrade  from  Canada  describes  the  war  in  the 
trenches  in  the  following  manner  in  a  letter  of 
December  20,  1914: 

Your  cheerful  and  good  letter  of  November  18th 
reached  me  last  night,  and  I  read  it  over  and  over 
again,  so  pleased  I  was  to  get  it. 

I  shall  endeavor  in  this  letter  to  give  you  an 
idea  of  what  the  war  looks  like  as  seen  by  "the  fear- 
less warrior"  I  am  trying  very  hard  to  be,  but  let 
me  tell  you  first  that  words  fail  to  describe  or  even 
give  a  faint  idea  of  the  awfulness  and  horrors  of  the 
present  war. 

A  word  as  to  how  our  positions  are  built  is  neces- 
sary. For  the  last  two  months  the  war  has  been  a 
war  of  intrenchments ;  that  is,  both  the  Germans  and 

m 


AT  THE  FRONT 

the  Allies  have  fortified  themselves  in  deep  trenches 
in  which  they  are  invulnerable.  These  intrenchments 
are  made  up  of  three  lines  of  defense.  In  the  first 
ones  the  Germans  and  the  French  are  so  close  to- 
gether that  they  can  almost  converse  with  each  other. 
This  has  caused  many  funny  incidents.  For  instance, 
we  often  read  our  French  newspapers  to  the  Ger- 
mans telling  them  of  their  disasters,  and  they  read 
theirs  afterwards  telling  us  the  German  story.  In 
some  places  the  German  and  French  trenches  are 
not  fifty  yards  apart.  In  this  position  no  one  can 
rest  or  sleep,  for  they  must  always  be  ready  to  fight 
on  a  second's  notice.     It  is  very  hard  and  tiring. 

The  second  line  of  defense  is  about  two  hundred 
yards  behind  the  first.  In  this  position  one  has 
also  to  be  ready  on  a  moment's  notice,  but,  instead 
of  everyone  watching  as  in  the  first  line,  sentries  take 
their  turn  at  guarding  in  shifts  while  the  rest  of  the 
men  can  rest  and  sleep. 

The  third  position  is  about  a  mile  behind  the  sec- 
ond. There,  instead  of  living  in  trenches,  one  lives 
in  houses,  farmhouses,  etc.,  as  far  as  possible,  so 
that  it  is  much  more  comfortable.  It  is  also  possible 
to  wash,  which  cannot  be  done  in  the  first  two  posi- 
tions because  of  lack  of  water. 

The  troops  in  the  third  position  are  kept  for  a 
case  of  emergency,  to  reinforce  the  first  two  lines. 
It  is  there  that  most  of  the  troops  are  kept. 

27 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

In  any  one  of  the  three  positions  one  has  to  be 
always  dressed,  equipped,  with  his  gun  near  him. 
It  makes  it  very  uncomfortable,  as  we  carry  a  heavy 
load  of  cartridges  (five  hundred).  I  have  not  un- 
dressed since  I  arrived. 

Behind  the  third  position  are  located  the  hospitals 
and  the  auxiliary  services. 

The  first  two  positions  are  made  up  of  trenches 
built  in  three  units.  The  first  one  is  the  trench  itself, 
from  which  one  can  shoot  and  direct  his  fire  against 
the  enemy.  It  is  open,  about  six  feet  deep  and  three 
feet  wide.  One  shoots  behind  the  protection  of  what 
we  call  in  French  crenaux,  and  is  thus  well  protected 
from  the  enemy's  bullets.  In  the  forward  wall  of 
this  trench  are  doors  conducting  by  stairs  to  deep 
cellars,  built  eighteen  feet  below  the  surface  of  the 
earth.  In  these  cellars  the  soldiers  take  refuge  when 
under  bombardment  from  the  enemy's  guns,  and  they 
are  absolutely  immune  from  the  danger  of  the 
colossal  explosions  of  the  Germans'  monstrous 
obuses.  These  cellars  are  only  in  the  second  and 
third  positions,  as  the  Germans  cannot  bombard  our 
first  position,  which  is  so  close  to  theirs  that  they 
would  risk  bombarding  their  own. 

Behind  the  firing  trench  are  located  shacks,  houses 
built  of  straw,  mud  and  timber,  the  roofs  of  which 
are  at  the  earth's  level.  In  these  we  live,  sleep  and 
rest.    We  do  not  live  in  the  cellars,  because  it  would 

28 


AT  THE  FRONT 

be  too  insanitary,  and  it  would  take  too  long  to  get 
out  of  them  in  case  of  an  attack,  when  seconds  are 
worth  hours. 

The  intrenchments  are  not  built  in  a  straight  line 
but  in  a  broken  line,  so  as  to  minimize  the  effect  of 
an  obus  falling  into  any  part  of  the  entrenchment. 
It  only  kills  a  few  men,  whereas  it  would  clean  out 
a  whole  trench  built  in  a  straight  line,  with  nothing 
to  stop  its  force. 

It  is  useless  to  say  that  living  in  these  shacks  and 
cellars  is  most  uncomfortable.  When  it  rains,  which 
happens  often,  they  are  filled  with  water  and  mud; 
we  cannot  make  any  fire  for  fear  of  showing  our 
position  to  the  enemy,  and  our  food,  which  is  cooked 
at  the  third  line,  is  cold  when  it  reaches  us,  after 
having  traveled  a  mile  or  two  in  the  open  air. 

If  you  add  to  this  that  we  never  wash,  that  we 
are  covered  with  mud  and  dirt,  that  we  are  always 
under  great  nervous  tension,  that  we  hardly  sleep, 
you  will  understand  that  after  a  week  of  this  life 
we  are  thoroughly  exhausted.  We  then  get  four 
days'  rest  at  the  third  line,  which  is  of  great  benefit 
to  our  health. 

A  word  now  as  to  the  region  in  which  these  tragic 
events  take  place.  It  is  in  the  North  of  France, 
in  vast  plains  where  most  of  the  French  wheat  is 
grown,  flat,  without  trees,  offering  no  shelter  what- 
ever, and  desolated  with  no   horizon.      To   anyone 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

approaching  our  battlefield,  nothing  particular  is  to 
be  noticed,  except  that  this  year  the  fields  are  not 
cultivated  and  seem  to  be  full  of  big  holes;  but  no 
sight  of  guns,  soldiers,  trenches ;  everything  is  under 
the  earth  and  cannot  be  seen  even  at  ten  yards'  dis- 
tance. 

Being  located  near  the  sea,  the  plains  are  very 
misty  and  damp.  It  rains  eight  days  out  of  ten, 
and  although  it  is  not  very  cold,  we  suffer  very  much 
from  the  humidity  in  the  atmosphere.  During  the 
nights  it  is  usually  very  dark. 

The  struggle  consists  mostly  in  never-ending  artil- 
lery duels.  All  day  long  and  during  the  night  one 
hears  only  the  booming  of  guns,  which  shake  the  air 
and  the  earth.  I  must  say  that  as  far  as  the  Germans 
are  concerned,  they  seem  to  be  very  poor  shooters. 
I  have  been  in  the  second  position  for  the  last  six 
days.  They  are  sending  us  a  copious  lot  of  obuses 
and  shrapnel  all  the  time,  and  although  many  of 
my  comrades,  as  well  as  myself,  have  had  many  close 
escapes  from  death,  they  do  not  succeed  in  killing 
more  than  two  or  three  men  a  day,  and  wounding  as 
many.  And  yet  firing  so  many  big  obuses  must  cost 
them  millions  every  day. 

It  is  under  the  cover  of  dark  nights  that  the  in- 
fantry, both  French  and  German,  make  their  attacks. 
The  worst  one  I  have  seen  took  place  about  a  week 
after  I  had  arrived  at  the  front. 

30 


AT  THE  FRONT 

On  that  day  the  weather  had  been  very  windy 
and  unsettled  all  day  long.  We  had  been  bombarded 
very  hard  by  the  Germans.  When  night  came,  both 
the  wind  and  the  cannonade  had  abated.  About  nine 
p.m.  I  took  my  turn  as  our  advanced  sentry  in  front 
of  the  trenches  of  the  second  position.  Just  imagine 
a  night  as  black  as  ink,  a  night  worthy  of  Dante's 
Inferno,  full  of  mystery  from  which  the  worst  could 
be  expected.  One  thing  struck  me  when  I  took  my 
post.  Usually  one  could  see  during  the  night  flashes 
of  light,  the  explosion  of  obuses,  the  white  light  of 
electric  projectors  or  the  luminous  fuses  sent  up  by 
the  Germans  into  the  air,  to  enable  them  to  discover 
the  French  patrols.  It  was  like  the  most  spectacular 
exhibition  of  fireworks.  But  on  that  night  there  was 
no  light  to  be  seen,  nor  were  the  guns  booming.  I 
perceived  also  in  the  sky  what  looked  like  a  star, 
but  grew  brighter  and  dimmer  and  moved  from  left 
to  right,  as  if  making  signals.  This  turned  out  to 
be  a  captive  balloon. 

I  thought  this  strange  and  unusual,  and  went  to 
inform  my  lieutenant  of  what  was  going  on.  The 
lieutenant  doubled  the  number  of  sentries,  and  ad- 
vised us  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out,  as  he  thought  the 
Germans  were  preparing  some  bad  coup,  and  indeed 
they  were. 

I  resumed  my  position,  walking  slowly  up  and  down, 
trying  very  hard  to  see  something  in  the  dark  night, 

31 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

but  I  could  not  see  much.  I  could  not  help  thinking, 
and  this  thought  would  insistently  come  back  to  me, 
that  I  was  an  actor  playing  the  part  of  some  hero 
in  some  dark  drama  like  "La  Tosca."  My  mind  was 
busy  amusing  itself  with  this  and  other  thoughts, 
when  all  of  a  sudden,  without  the  least  previous 
notice,  a  hideous  light  illuminated  the  horizon,  and 
before  I  could  catch  my  breath  a  hail  of  obuses  fell 
on  our  trenches,  working  terrible  havoc.  The  ex- 
plosion shook  my  body,  surrounding  me  with  flames 
and  fire,  while  I  could  hear  in  the  far  distance  the 
noise  of  an  intense  fusillade  and  terrifying  shouts 
and  cries,  such  as  would  come  from  a  crowd  of  wild 
men.  The  Germans  had  gone  to  the  assault  of  our 
first  position. 

It  was  so  sudden,  so  spectacular,  so  impressive 
that  for  a  while,  to  use  a  vulgar  expression,  "I 
was  scared  stiff,"  and  could  not  move.  Then,  moved 
by  instinct,  I  ran  to  the  trenches  and  made  a  general 
call  to  arms,  and  went  to  knock  at  the  door  of  our 
commander's  shack,  calling  him  out,  telling  him  of 
what  had  happened.  By  that  time  great  excite- 
ment was  prevailing  in  the  trenches,  the  men  were 
coming  out  of  their  shacks,  seeking  the  position  each 
one  had  to  occupy  in  case  of  an  attack.  Officers  were 
shouting  orders  that  were  unheard,  while  obuses  were 
falling  fast,  making  a  thundering  noise,  and  making 
worse   the   horrors    of   the   night.      Some    men   got 


AT  THE  FRONT 

wounded.  Some  got  buried  in  the  earth  and  mud 
thrown  up  by  the  explosions  of  obuses  near  about. 
After  a  while  order  was  restored  in  the  trenches, 
everyone  occupying  his  position,  ready  to  fight,  hud- 
dling in  the  bottom  of  the  trenches  so  as  not  to  be 
hurt  by  the  explosions  of  obuses,  which  were  becom- 
ing more  and  more  frequent,  and  by  the  storm  of 
bullets  passing  over  our  heads. 

In  the  distance  we  could  hear  the  echo  of  a  ter- 
rible struggle  between  the  Germans  and  our  men  of 
the  first  position.  From  the  darkness  of  the  night 
came  the  voice  of  our  commander,  "My  boys,  we 
shall  have  to  go  forward  to  the  assistance  of  our 
comrades  of  the  first  line.  I  expect  everyone  to  do 
his  duty.  Everyone  shall  go  forward  at  my  order." 
In  answer  the  German  artillery  seemed  to  redouble  the 
bombardment.  There  must  have  been  at  least  six 
batteries  spitting  death  and  fire  upon  the  short  zone 
separating  the  second  front  the  first  position — this 
to  prevent  us  from  going  forward  to  reinforce  our 
first  position. 

Then  came  the  order,  "Forward."  The  field  in 
front  of  our  trenches  looked  like  an  ocean.  Under 
the  effect  of  the  terrific  explosions  from  the  German 
obuses,  the  earth  was  torn  up  and  seemed  to  form 
waves  of  mud  and  dust,  real  waves  with  white  caps 
of  fine  earth  that  was  blown  into  our  eyes  and  ears. 
The  explosions  were  making  a  kind  of  artificial  light 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

that  was  hideous,  making  things  look  unnatural  and 
deformed,  outlining  their  shapes  as  in  a  nightmare. 

The  men  hesitated.  To  leave  their  shelter  in  the 
trenches  looked  like  sure  and  instant  death.  As  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  never  before  had  the  sentiment 
of  the  irremediable  hopelessness  of  my  case  been 
so  impressed  upon  me.  I  thought  my  last  hour  had 
come.  At  the  price  of  a  great  effort  I  regained  my 
composure.  Men  were  leaving  the  trenches,  crawl- 
ing upon  the  ground,  and  I  started  also  to  go  for- 
ward. 

The  ground  was  soaked  from  the  rain  of  the  pre- 
vious days.  We  had  not  crawled  forward  ten  feet 
before  our  clothes  were  wet  through,  and  then  it 
was  such  hard  work  crawling  upon  the  ground  full 
of  holes,  with  the  great  weight  we  had  to  carry  with 
us,  that  I  was  soon  in  a  great  state  of  perspiration. 
I  could  not  tell  whether  the  water  or  the  perspira- 
tion drenched  me  most.  I  reached  the  barbed  wire 
defense  of  our  position,  and  going  through  I 
scratched  my  hands,  which  were  bleeding  and  hurt- 
ing me  much.  At  times  the  wind  would  blow  and 
I  would  shiver  from  the  cold;  and  all  the  time  I 
would  hear  obuses  whistling  through  the  air.  Every 
time  I  heard  one  the  question  would  present  itself 
to  my  mind,  "Where  will  it  strike  the  ground?" 
Several  times  they  struck  so  near  me  that  I  was 
buried  under  the  showers  of  earth.     The  noise  of 

34 


AT  THE  FRONT 

the  explosions  made  my  ears  bleed.  I  noticed  that 
obuses  very  seldom  struck  the  ground  twice  in 
the  same  place,  so  I  followed  the  plan  of  hiding 
myself  in  the  holes  formed  by  the  one  just  exploded, 
then  I  would  run  to  the  next  one  and  thus  go  for- 
ward. 

We  had  not  made  half  of  the  distance  when  the 
news  came  that  the  Germans  had  pierced  our  first 
lines,  and  our  men  were  retreating,  disputing  every 
foot  of  the  ground.  We  could  see  the  struggle  and 
the  Germans  coming  upon  us. 

Then  the  order  came  that  we  should  also  retreat 
and  go  back  to  our  trenches  of  the  second  position, 
as  we  would  make  a  better  stand  there  against  the 
Germans,  while  reinforcements  were  coming  to  our 
help. 

And  so  we  did.  At  the  price  of  great  pain  and 
sufferings,  and  always  under  steady  bombardment, 
we  took  our  position  behind  the  crenaux  waiting  for 
the  worst.  It  was  not  twenty-five  minutes  since  the 
attack  had  started.  I  was  feeling  much  better, 
although  shivering  from  the  cold,  my  clothes  being 
all  wet  through,  my  face  and  hands  being  covered 
with  mud,  which  also  filled  my  eyes  and  ears. 

Suddenly  we  heard  a  great  noise  behind  us,  a  noise 
of  chains,  irons,  wheels,  of  horses  pulling  hard  and 
in  great  number,  and  of  swearing,  hurrying  men. 
Before  we  had  time  to  realize  what  had  happened, 

35 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

a  thunderbolt  rent  the  air.  We  could  feel  the  heat 
of  it.  A  deafening  roaring  shook  the  earth,  while 
the  displacement  of  air  was  so  great  that  we  were 
thrown  against  the  forward  wall  of  the  trenches. 
One  of  our  famous  "75"  batteries  had  just  arrived 
upon  the  ground  and  had  started  to  make  the  Boches 
(name  by  which  we  call  the  Germans)  dance! 

Oh,  how  I  wish  you  had  been  there !  It  was  most 
wonderful.  I  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  the 
superiority  of  the  French  artillery,  but  the  most 
eulogistic  compliments  are  not  enough  to  tell  the 
truth.  Within  ten  minutes,  one  single  French  bat- 
tery had  silenced  the  six  German  batteries,  and  with 
such  a  maestria ! !  The  German  obuses  are  certainly 
very  redoubtable,  they  make  a  terrific  noise  and  work 
destruction ;  but  ours  !  It  is  frightful.  They  explode 
dryly,  brutally,  as  if  with  anger.  They  seem  hardly 
to  have  left  the  mouth  of  the  gun  when  they  explode 
with  a  dry  quick  effect,  and  for  five  minutes  one 
can  hear  the  debris  they  have  created  falling  down 
upon  the  ground. 

One  can  hear  the  German  obuses  coming  and 
whistling  through  the  air  for  thirty  seconds.  Ours 
seem  to  get  there  ten  times  as  quickly,  and  to  go 
straight  to  their  objective. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  after  it  had  silenced 
the  enemy's  guns,  our  battery  directed  its  fire  against 
the  German  trenches  with  remarkable  effect. 

36 


.    AT  THE  FRONT 

By  that  time  a  battalion  of  chasseurs,  who  are  the 
best  men  of  our  infantry,  had  also  arrived  upon  the 
scene.  They  made  a  wonderful  charge  a  la  bayonette 
and  drove  the  Germans  back  to  their  trenches,  mak- 
ing many  prisoners.  The  next  day  when  we  buried 
the  dead,  there  were  three  thousand  Germans  and 
our  loss  was  but  two  hundred.  Such  a  disparity  in 
losses  is  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  they  had  to 
swamp  our  first  line  of  intrenchment  to  get  through. 

I  was  told  the  next  day  by  a  man  who  was  in  the 
first  line  that  it  was  a  question  of  shooting  fast 
enough  to  kill  them  all!  The  Germans  came  to  the 
assault  of  our  first  line  in  such  great  numbers  that 
our  men  did  not  have  time  enough  to  shoot  and  kill 
them  all,  and  thus  were  finally  swamped. 

The  whole  attack  lasted  about  an  hour.  After 
it  was  over  our  artillery  bombarded  the  German 
intrenchments  for  over  an  hour,  causing  them,  no 
doubt,  further  losses. 

I  had  to  resume  my  function  as  a  sentry  until 
eleven  p.m.,  but  I  enjoyed  it,  I  assure  you,  watching 
our  big  obuses  fly  through  the  air,  and  witnessing 
the  destruction  they  made. 

When  I  went  to  bed — of  course  there  is  no  bed — 
I  was  so  exhausted  by  the  terrible  moments  I  had 
lived  through,  that  I  hardly  took  the  time  to  take 
off  my  wet  clothes. 

I  rolled  myself  into  a  blanket  and  fell  upon  the 
37 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

earth  of  our  shack  in  a  slumber  so  deep  that  nothing 
could  have  awakened  me. 

Since  then  I  have  been  in  three  more  attacks,  so 
I  am  getting  used  to  it  now  and  hold  my  own  better. 
However,  I  shall  never  forget  those  anxious  moments 
of  the  first  attack. 


Letter  of  First  Lieutenant  B.  of  the  Alpine  Chas- 
seurs, describing  his  first  battle.  He  was  but  twenty- 
one  years  of  age.  He  has  since  been  killed  in  Alsace 
after  having  obtained  two  mentions  in  the  Orders 
of  the  Division  and  the  Army  for  his  bravery. 

My  very  dear  Mother: 

You  must  have  been  much  surprised  latterly  to 
have  had  so  little  news  of  me.  Now  that  the  storm 
is  over,  I  can  tell  you  that  I  spent  five  days  within 
thirty  meters  of  Mm.  les  Bodies  and  that  this  prox- 
imity prevented  my  sending  you  any  news.  Here  is 
what  happened :  On  the  sixteenth  we  found  ourselves 
in  the  trenches  of  the  third  line,  eight  hundred  meters 
from  the  Boches.  The  Major  assembles  the  com- 
pany commanders ;  Lieutenant  M.  returns  and  taking 
me  by  the  arm,  leads  me  up  a  little  slope,  indicating 
a  wooded  ridge  about  four  hundred  meters  away,  and 
says  to  me:  "The  battalion  is  ordered  to  take  that 
ridge;  the  third  and  fourth  companies  will  attack. 
The  affair  is  for  tomorrow  afternoon." 

38 


AT  THE  FRONT 

At  that  moment  I  had  a  chill,  and  all  day  my 
heart  was  troubled.  I  prayed  as  I  had  never  prayed 
before  in  my  life,  and  in  the  evening  my  courage  had 
come  back.  I  slept  all  night.  The  next  morning  we 
were  to  be  in  the  trench  ready  to  move  at  half-past 
eleven;  we  ate  rapidly  and  at  five  minutes  before 
eleven  I  started  to  assemble  my  company. 

All  the  men  were  together  and  we  were  about  to 
start,  when  directly  over  our  heads  an  enormous 
bomb  exploded,  then  a  second  and  then  a  third.  The 
Boches  had  found  our  point  of  assembly  and  were 
giving  us  a  heavy  bombardment.  The  men  showing 
some  nervousness  I  brought  them  back  under  shelter ; 
then  turning  about  I  found  M.  deadly  pale,  and  he 
said  to  me :  "I  am  wounded  in  the  leg ;  take  the  com- 
pany to  the  point  of  departure  for  the  attack  and 
report  to  the  Major."  I  can  assure  you  that  at  this 
moment  I  did  not  feel  very  heroic.  Outside  the  bombs 
were  exploding  with  a  horrible  noise,  and  the  moment 
of  attack  was  approaching.  I  marched  my  men  along 
and  halted  them  in  a  place  of  shelter.  I  then  went 
to  find  the  Major  and  reported  to  him.  He  said: 
"You  are  in  luck  to  find  yourself  at  the  very  outset 
commander  of  a  company;  to  be  acting  captain  at 
your  age  is  splendid."  I  answered:  "Major,  I  am 
not  sufficiently  experienced;  I  beg  you  give  me  a 
company  commander."  He  replied:  "Come,  come, 
a  little  courage,  you  will  see  it  is  not  difficult.     The 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

signal  for  the  attack  will  be  given  you  by  Lieuten- 
ant S." 

I  could  but  obey.  I  advanced  the  men  as  far  for- 
ward as  possible  in  the  trench,  and  passed  the  word 
that  I  was  taking  command  of  the  company. 

The  French  artillery  was  firing  on  the  ridge  which 
we  were  to  attack.  It  was  a  fantastic  sight.  The 
220's  went  whistling  over  our  heads  and  exploding 
over  the  Boche  trenches  within  a  hundred  meters  of 
us,  making  a  horrible  noise  and  thick  black  smoke. 
At  half-past  one  the  75's  began  to  fire.  Two  thousand 
bombs  were  thrown  against  the  Boche  position.  It 
was  an  infernal  din;  uprooted  saplings  were  car- 
ried a  hundred  meters  away  and  thick  smoke  covered 
everything. 

Our  machine  guns  began  to  take  part.  Suddenly 
the  voice  of  Lieutenant  S.  called:  "Ready!  Third 
Company,  forward!"  Without  a  moment's  pause  I 
sprang  out  of  the  trench,  shouting:  "Come  on,  boys, 
forward !"  The  75's  had  then  increased  their  range. 
All  the  men  followed  me,  and  shouting,  we  scrambled 
forward  at  double  time  towards  the  Boche  trench. 
I  had  my  revolver  in  my  hand.  In  the  heat  of  the 
attack,  I  had  distanced  all  my  "poilus"  and  found 
myself  thirty  meters  ahead  of  them.  Suddenly,  I  saw 
a  mound.  It  was  the  Boche  trench,  and  at  the  same 
moment  a  bullet  whistled  by  my  ear.  I  leaped  for- 
ward and  I  find  a  Boche,  his  gun  still  smoking  in  his 

40 


AT  THE  FRONT 

hand,  with  the  Red  Cross  brassard  on  his  arm;  he 
drops  on  his  knees,  crying,  "Pardon,  kamarad"  and 
showing  me  his  brassard,  says:  "Sanitat,  sanitat". 
[Hospital  Corps.]  I  go  on  with  my  men.  We  pass 
over  the  ridge,  and  we  stop  at  two  hundred  meters 
from  the  crest  as  I  had  been  ordered  to  do.  The 
Boches  were  bolting  on  every  side.  Our  artillery  fire 
had  so  demoralized  them  that  they  had  abandoned 
everything.  We  occupied  all  the  Boche  positions, 
picking  up  quantities  of  material,  guns,  machine-guns, 
tools ;  here  and  there  dead  Boches  blotted  the  land- 
scape. 

But  it  was  no  time  to  jest.  I  get  my  men  together 
and  tell  them :  "Get  to  work  and  dig  a  trench  there." 
I  was  astonished'  to  find  myself  so  calm.  In  front  of 
us  fifty  chasseurs  guarded  the  construction  of  our 
trench.  Up  to  that  moment  I  had  had  one  man  killed 
and  twenty  wounded.  Suddenly,  right  in  front  of 
us  a  violent  fusillade  began;  bullets  whistled  on  all 
sides,  and  I  saw  the  "poilus"  ahead  of  me  return, 
calling,  "Lieutenant,  they  are  coming."  It  was  the 
counter-attack.  We  jump  into  the  trench  scarcely 
yet  outlined,  and  I  command  the  men  to  fire.  Two 
hundred  meters  from  me  I  see  the  Boches  coming  in 
masses,  shouting;  I  even  heard  the  cry  "Vorwarts, 
vorwarts!"  All  of  my  men  begin  to  fire;  the  fusillade 
resounds;  the  Boches,  throwing  themselves  on  the 
ground,  return  our  fire ;  thousands  of  bullets  go  whist- 

41 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

ling  by  our  ears,  but  I  pay  no  attention.  Suddenly 
the  Boches  rise  and  continue  to  advance ;  we  continue 
to  fire;  the  Boches,  in  panic,  run  away  at  full  speed, 
leaving  behind  them  quantities  of  dead  and  wounded. 

My  men  continue  to  work  at  the  trench.  I  have 
them  place  in  front  of  the  trench  a  barricade  of 
barbed  wire  taken  from  the  Boches,  and  we  spend 
the  first  night  there.  Note  that  I  had  with  me  only  a 
sergeant.  I  did  not  feel  very  big.  The  Major  had 
sent  me  a  note  in  which  he  warmly  congratulated  me, 
and  expressly  forbade  me  to  give  up  the  position.  I 
think  that  all  my  life  I  shall  remember  that  night. 
The  Boches  were  constantly  firing  on  us,  while  dig- 
ging their  own  trench  sixty  meters  from  us.  My 
men  were  on  edge  and  I  had  a  hard  time  to  keep  them 
from  firing.  In  the  night  the  Boches  came  again, 
but  again  were  quickly  repulsed.  What  a  night! 
Frightfully  damp,  a  flurry  of  snow  and  terrible  cold, 
and  overhead  the  sounds  of  the  whistling  bullets 
mingled  with  the  strokes  of  the  spades  and  picks  of 
the  Boches.    The  whole  thing  was  impressive. 

Daylight  came,  and  with  it  a  frightful  fusillade 
from  the  Boches.  One  of  my  men  was  killed ;  another 
wounded.  I  had  in  all  ten  killed  and  some  thirty 
wounded.  We  kept  on  working  at  our  trench  and 
connected  it  with  the  trench  of  the  neighboring  com- 
pany. During  the  morning  someone  comes  through 
a  connecting  trench  telling  me  that  the  Maj  or  wished 

42 


AT  THE  FRONT 

to  speak  to  me.  I  arrive  at  his  headquarters.  He 
shakes  my  hand,  saying :  "My  boy,  I  am  going  to  see 
what  I  can  do  for  you;  but  I  promise  you,  anyhow, 
to  have  you  mentioned  in  the  Orders  for  the  Day, 
which  will  give  you  a  right  to  the  Croix  de  Guerre" 
and  he  adds :  "All  the  officers  of  the  battalion  admired 
the  way  that  you  conducted  yourself  during  the 
attack,  and  I  am  happy  to  congratulate  you." 

You  can  imagine  if  I  was  excited!  I  assure 
you  that  it  is  easy  to  do  one's  duty,  and  I  was 
not  at  all  expecting  to  be  congratulated.  All  the 
officers  came  to  shake  my  hand.  I  felt  covered  with 
confusion. 

Now  for  something  else.  We  spent  the  next  four 
nights  in  the  trench,  and  this  morning  I  had  my  feet 
swollen  and  hurting  horribly.  I  went  to  the  relief  sta- 
tion, where  they  found  that  my  left  foot  was  frozen, 
and  my  right  was  frost-bitten.  They  sent  me  to  the 
rear,  to  a  village,  three  kilometers  away.  I  shall  be 
here,  it  seems,  for  eight  days. 

You  see,  dear  mamma,  everything  went  well.  It  was 
surely  your  thoughts  and  your  prayers  that  watched 
over  me,  and  kept  away  the  bullets.  You  can  say 
that  your  son  did  his  duty  as  best  he  could,  and  if  I 
am  happy  to  be  named  in  the  Ordre  du  Jour  it  is 
principally  because  of  the  pleasure  that  you,  as  well 
as  papa,  will  feel. 

The  battalion  is  now  going  to  be  relieved.    I  hope 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

that  my  frost-bite  will  be  cured  when  it  goes  on  duty 
again. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  OFFICIAL  COMMUNIQUES 

1.  In  Alsace,  we  have  taken  the  ridges  which  com- 
mand the  "Sudel"  farm,  and  we  have  held  all  the 
ground  taken. 

2.  In  Alsace,  further  details  inform  us  that  the 
south  ridge  of  the  "Sudel"  farm,  taken  by  us  on 
Wednesday,  constituted  a  formidably  equipped  re- 
doubt. We  took  there  one  bomb  thrower,  five 
machine'-guns,  some  hundred  rifles,  shields,  bombs, 
tools,  and  rolls  of  wire;  telephone  apparatus,  thou- 
sands of  cartridges  and  some  sand  bags. 


Here  is  another  picture  of  the  front,  a  picture  of 
Christmas  day,  the  anniversary  of  Him  who  said, 
"Peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men."  A  young  theo- 
logical student  in  the  ranks  writes : 

December  25,  1914. 
I  do  not  know  how  this  day  has  passed  with  you, 
but  here  it  has  been  somewhat  sad;  the  nostalgic 
temperament  of  our  Celts  [he  is  a  Breton  among 
Breton  soldiers]  has  got  the  upper  hand  to-day. 
Our  cannons  might  thunder  as  they  would  and  our 
mortars  vomit  their  fire,  all  the  noise  failed  to  waken 

44 


AT  THE  FRONT 

our  soldiers  from  their  dreams.  They  were  all  think- 
ing of  their  dear  ones  left  behind  in  the  gray,  sweet 
Armorican  country.  They  were  living  over  again  the 
happy  Christmas  days  of  the  past,  the  midnight 
masses  celebrated  with  such  warmth  and  spirit  in 
spite  of  rain  or  snow,  the  return  home  to  where  the 
huge  log  was  flaming  on  the  hearth,  the  gay  awaken- 
ing in  the  morning,  and  the  joy  of  the  children  when 
they  found  that  the  little  Jesus  had  visited  their 
wooden  shoes.  All  of  this  has  been  like  an  uneasy 
troubled  dream.  Still  the  Christmas  Eve  was  beau- 
tiful. The  rain  had  stopped  and  dry  weather  came 
on.  The  sky  was  sown  with  stars  and  the  ground 
covered  with  hoar  frost.  At  midnight  the  German 
soldiers  sang  in  the  trenches.  One  of  our  lieutenants 
stood  up  and  sang,  "Minuit,  Chretiens."  Our 
Bretons  chanted  their  Christmas  carols  in  the  rude 
sweet  tongue  of  Armorica,  "Tarram  Mandeleck" 
"Sing  Noel."  After  the  singing  one  of  the  Germans 
came  out  of  the  trenches  with  a  lantern  in  one  hand 
and  a  box  in  the  other,  shouting,  "Don't  shoot,  com- 
rades, cigar — cigarette."  He  came  halfway  to  our 
line  and  stopped.  One  of  our  officers  replied  that 
we  were  well  supplied  with  cigars  and  cigarettes  and 
that  he  might  make  other  use  of  them.  He  returned 
to  his  trench  and  a  little  later  the  firing  began. 

Don't  be  downcast  thinking  of  us  in  the  snow  and 
rain,  it's  all  part  of  the  game.     War  is  a  test  of 

45 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

character  like  others,  and  nations  need  suffering  to 
keep  them  from  the  thoughtless  life  that  lets  the  day 
slide  by  in  ease.  We  know  what  it  is  to  suffer  here, 
but  if  we  know  how  to  bear  the  suffering,  to  receive 
it  as  God  wills,  we  shall  come  out  the  stronger  for 
it,  tempered  the  better  to  meet  all  the  tests  of  life. 
And  if  we  must  come  to  the  supreme  test  to  give 
our  lives  for  France,  believe  me,  not  one  of  us  will 
hesitate  a  moment.  For  myself  since  the  beginning 
of  the  war  I  have  held  my  life  cheap;  they  call  me 
reckless,  but  until  now  I  have  not  received  the  slight- 
est scratch.  Perhaps  God  doesn't  want  me  yet,  but 
if  death  is  to  come  my  prayer  is,  "Thy  will,  not  mine, 
be  done." 

Don't  reproach  yourself  that  you  are  too  happy. 
You  have  a  good  soul  and  are  doing  others  good. 
God  made  you  that  way,  you  should  thank  Him 
for  it.  You  may  rest  assured  that  I  do  not  forget 
you  in  my  prayers,  and  I  ask  you,  too,  when  you 
kneel  at  the  altar  to  think  of  me  and  commend  me  to 
our  Saviour,  that  He  may  make  your  friend,  the 
little  corporal,  a  willing  victim  if  he  is  destined  to 
die  and  a  good  priest  if  he  is  destined  to  live. 


A  French  jurisconsulte  who  has  recently  pub- 
lished an  article  in  the  Revue  Generate  de  Droit 
International    Public    on    Anglo-American    arbitra- 

46 


AT  THE  FRONT 

tion,  is  now  on  the  firing  line.  With  his  great 
technical  competence  and  with  the  moderation  and 
solidity  of  character  which  is  well  known  to  all  his 
friends  and  to  specialists  in  his  subject  in  every 
country,  he  writes  under  the  date  of  May  4,  1915: 

At  the  front  we  certainly  feel  that  we  are  in 
danger.  We  hear  the  rifle  bullets  whistling  and 
sometimes  we  are  spattered  with  mud  from  the  burst- 
ing shells,  and  even  if  we  are  called  on  to  do  little 
in  reply,  all  that  has  a  moral  value.  Still  it  is  sad 
to  have  infinitely  less  asked  of  you  than  you  could 
do.  Think  of  it,  for  more  than  a  month  I  have 
been  helping  build  roads.  My  men  work  hard,  but 
my  own  role  is  at  present  almost  nil.  Formerly  I 
worked  on  fortifications.  It  was  more  dangerous, 
but  much  more  of  a  military  job,  and  I  felt  that 
my  labor  was  much  more  useful. 

All  this  is  enlarging  the  foundations  of  my  ex- 
perience and  jurisprudence  and  I  think  that  my 
next  course  on  the  Rights  of  War  will  be  one  of 
unusual  originality  (if  the  German  rascals  allow 
me  to  give  it).  You  know  what  reorganization  of 
the  material  will  be  necessary.  You  know  also  how 
little  regard  the  German  military  leaders  have  for 
the  rights  of  nations  or  for  the  conventions  signed 
by  their  government.  I  had  an  example  of  it  the 
other  day.  The  little  town  in  which  I  am  staying 
(I  can't  tell  you  the  name  of  it)  was  bombarded. 

47 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

Perhaps  the  Germans  thought  that  they  had  good 
military  reasons  for  the  bombardment,  but  in  defi- 
ance of  Article  26  of  the  Regulations  of  The  Hague 
they  did  not  give  any  previous  notice  of  bombard- 
ment. The  noncombatant  population,  surprised  by 
the  rain  of  shells,  had  no  time  to  seek  refuge.  The 
effect  of  the  bombardment  was  almost  nil.  An  old 
man  of  seventy  and  a  soldier  were  killed,  one  or  two 
others  wounded,  some  pieces  of  masonry  knocked 
down,  and  holes  plowed  up  in  the  air.  But  in  spite 
of  these  slight  results,  it  was  deplorable  as  an  ex- 
ample of  the  brutal  method  of  the  Germans  in 
attacking  without  warning  and  in  direct  defiance  of 
the  international  agreement  which  they  made. 

These  are  facts  which  the  jurists  ought  never  to 
forget.  I  am  collecting  only  those  of  which  I  have 
been  the  witness,  knowing  how  careful  one  must  be 
in  accepting  testimony.  Well,  I  have  in  my  pocket 
incendiary  pastilles  of  the  Boches,  bags  of  which 
were  found  everywhere  after  the  Battle  of  the  Marne, 
and  I  also  have  seen  a  German  bullet  with  the  end 
cut  into  a  cross  with  a  very  neat  incision  so  as  to 
make  it  into  a  dum-dum  ball. 

The  war  lengthens,  but  the  morale  of  our  troops 
is  unimpaired: 

Those  who  return  from  the  war  will  be  so  sick 
of  it  that  they  will  never  fight  again.     I  speak  of 

48 


AT  THE  FRONT 

the  Germans,  for  as  to  Frenchmen,  liberty  will  always 
find  plenty  of  defenders.  They  (the  Germans)  have 
left  thousands  of  corpses  on  our  line  of  march  in 
Champagne,  corpses  mutilated  in  every  fashion,  arms, 
heads,  remnants  of  human  bodies,  lie  scattered  about 
unburied,  and  those  that  are  buried  are  so  near  the 
surface  that  the  shells  dig  them  up  again. 

Still  the  morale  of  our  men  is  good.  When  the 
moment  for  attack  comes,  young  and  old  rush  for- 
ward like  tigers.  When  the  battle  is  over  they  come 
back  "all  in,"  and  two  hours  later  you  would  find 
it  hard  to  believe  that  these  men  who  passed  you 
nonchalantly  with  their  pipe  between  their  lips  have 
so  lately  been  heroes.  Their  conversation  is  typical: 
no  fine  phrases,  no  lyric  passages,  no  boasting;  their 
language  is  the  simplest  form  of  expression  filled 
with  common  slang  and  diminutives ;  and  this  is  true 
of  men  of  all  classes  of  society. 

Yesterday  a  comrade  whom  I  had  lost  sight  of 
since  December,  met  me.  He  is  thirty-eight  years 
old  and  married.  I  asked  him  for  news  of  this  or 
that  captain.  "Killed,"  he  said  of  one.  "I  saw  him 
blown  into  the  air  in  bits,"  he  said  of  another.  "He 
was  plucked  by  rifle  ball,"  of  another.  Of  another, 
"He's  gone  dippy."  "And  you,  my  friend?"  said  I. 
"Oh,  the  humming-birds  [bullets]  don't  find  me  at- 
tractive enough  to  light  on." 

The  man  who  would  start  to  discourse  on  the  jus- 
49 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

tice  of  our  cause  in  fine  language  would  be  sent  to 
the  devil.  We  don't  think  about  that  any  more.  We 
have  got  used  to  living  out  of  doors,  to  being  ex- 
posed. Our  bodies  are  accustomed  to  it,  and  our 
minds,  after  vainly  seeking  to  estimate  the  duration 
of  hostilities  have  grown  resigned.  When  we  get 
orders  to  move,  we  move  without  a  word.  We  are 
equally  confident  of  victory  whether  time  or  action  is 
to  decide  the  issue  of  the  war. 

All  said  and  done  our  morale  is  on  a  par  with  our 
task.  We  have  bent  to  the  task  partly  through 
necessity,  partly  by  intuition.  In  either  case  it  spells 
victory. 

A  letter  of  June  24,  1915,  from  an  artillery  man 
tells  how  the  enemy's  trenches  are  taken: 

We  are  very  busy  at  this  moment.  My  poor 
captain  spent  last  night  (the  fifth  in  succession) 
out  of  doors.  He  has  not  been  at  the  cantonment 
since  the  eighteenth.  As  for  me,  it's  the  same  old 
jig,  as  we  say  in  military  slang.  We  live  a  queer 
kind  of  life.  Take  yesterday  for  example;  at  six 
in  the  morning  everybody  was  sleeping  soundly  in 
the  safe  shelter  of  the  trenches,  in  spite  of  the  firing 
nearly  all  night.  At  nine  o'clock  the  whistles 
sounded,  everybody  was  routed  out  and  the  firing 
began,  with  intervals  of  three  to  ten  minutes  between 
shots.     This  irregular  fire  is  harder  to  conduct,  but 

50 


AT  THE  FRONT 

it  is  very  effective  in  demoralizing  the  enemy.  The 
shots  now  coming  close  on  each  other's  heels,  now 
separated  by  several  minutes,  keep  the  whole  zone 
demoralized. 

The  difficulty  in  this  irregular  fire  lies  in  the  fact 
that  the  irregularity  is  deliberate,  and  the  men  point- 
ing the  guns  have  to  be  ready  at  any  moment  to 
sight  the  exact  spot  that  the  commander  of  the 
battery  wants  to  reach.  It's  tiresome  because  we 
are  all  keyed  up  from  the  commander  down.  The 
slow  firing  lasts  sometimes  for  two  hours  at  a  stretch. 

At  half-past  eleven  it  began  to  rain.  We  all  lis- 
tened to  the  patter  of  it  in  our  shelter.  At  neon 
we  were  eating  our  soup  when  all  of  a  sudden  the 
orders  came  and  ninety  shells  were  dispatched  into 
the  enemy's  lines  to  paralyze  an  attack  which  had 
already  begun.  The  attack  ceased  and  we  went  on 
with  our  soup. 

Then  we  worked  at  the  screens  and  the  observa- 
tory. At  three  o'clock  we  were  allowed  some  sleep. 
At  six  soup  arrived,  but  with  it  an  order  to  meet 
an  infantry  attack.  We  fired  one  hundred  and  twenty 
shells  at  regular  intervals.  A  shot  every  ten  seconds 
from  each  battery.  The  shells  fell  in  the  trenches 
as  though  dropped  from  a  spoon  and  tore  them 
badly.  Three  cannons  of  Battery  155  were  trained 
on  a  blockhouse,  which  soon  disappeared  from  view 
in  a  cyclone  of  fire  and  dust.     Then  we  extended 

51 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

the  fire  and  formed  a  barricade  of  cannon,  under 
the  protection  of  which  the  soldiers  sprang  forward, 
not  one  of  them  falling.  One  hundred,  two  hundred, 
three  hundred  meters  and  they  were  at  the  Bodies' 
trench  and  the  blockhouse.  A  bewildering  scrimmage, 
and  half  the  men  came  back  dragging  some  gray 
bundles  of  rags,  which  we  recognized  as  prisoners. 
Later  we  heard  that  we  had  taken  two  trenches  and 
two  forts  with  seventy-five  prisoners.  The  German 
trenches  were  filled  with  corpses,  swimming  in  blood 
and  mud. 

The  firing  was  continued  until  eleven  o'clock  in 
the  evening  in  order  to  prevent  a  counter-attack, 
but  in  order  to  save  ammunition  we  fired  only  one 
shot  every  three  minutes  for  the  whole  battery. 
Everything  was  calm  and  we  were  sleeping  when  at 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  counter-attack  came. 
It  lasted  twenty  minutes  and  the  Boches  withdrew, 
leaving  a  number  of  corpses  on  the  field  as  a  result 
of  the  storm  that  they  had  the  impudence  to  draw 
down  on  themselves.  We  went  back  to  bed  and  slept 
peacefully  until  eight  o'clock.  Finally  the  relieving 
party  came  and  we  got  back  to  the  cantonment  for 
a  breathing  space. 

You  can  understand  that  in  this  kind  of  life  we 
don't  have  much  time  for  anything.  Firing,  working 
on  the  intrenchments,  eating,  sleeping,  these  are  our 
main  occupations,  with  a  little  washing  and  writing 


AT  THE  FRONT 

on  the  side.  We  hardly  have  time  to  think,  for  our 
whole  being  is  totally  fixed  on  the  single  end  of  vic- 
tory. And  it  seems  as  if  our  end  were  reached.  The 
Boches  are  melting  away  under  our  fire,  for  they 
will  be  massacred,  but  will  not  surrender.  Above 
the  aviators  are  flying  incessantly,  hindering  any 
rush  of  the  enemy  on  our  position  and  keeping  us 
informed  of  his  position  all  the  time.  We  have  some- 
times six  aviators  in  the  air  to  one  German  who 
hovers  at  a  distance,  not  daring  to  advance  in  the 
face  of  such  superiority.  At  that  there  is  almost 
nothing  going  on  in  our  section.  It  is  on  the  left 
that  the  real  action  is  taking  place. 

Louis  G. 


THE  NATIONAL  HOLIDAY  AT  THE  FRONT 

A  card  from  M.  L.,  July  14,  1915 : 

We  have  all  the  rain  that  you  could  want  in  the 
sky  and  all  the  water  you  could  want  in  the  trenches. 
It's  the  regular  fourteenth  of  July  wetting.  There's 
nothing  extraordinary  to  report — we  are  beginning 
to  live  the  peaceful  life  since  the  attacks  of  Q.  We 
have  the  cannons  to  amuse  us  in  the  daytime,  and 
the  fuses  to  light  us  up  at  night,  and  with  all  com- 
fortable apartments  underground.  What  more 
could  we  ask  to  make  us  happy? 

53 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

A  card  from  A.  H. : 

The  action  is  lively  in  our  region.  The  Crown 
Prince  sees  that  even  if  Verdun  is  not  far  away,  the 
road  to  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  take.  Let  us  hope 
that  he  will  be  convinced  of  it  before  long. 

***** 

And  the  commanders?  Here  is  one  of  them 
sketched  in  a  lively  fashion  in  the  letter  of  a  young 
officer,  L.  G.,  lieutenant  of  reserves: 

The  general  of  our  army  corps  has  just  made 
an  address  to  us.  He  is  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  an 
alert  expression,  a  round  head  on  a  long  neck,  short 
hair,  black  but  grizzled,  a  clear  bright  eye  under 
dark  lashes  and  a  prominent  forehead.  His  nose 
is  straight  above  a  heavy  gray  mustache,  his  jaw  is 
square  and  firm.  In  very  simple  words,  he  told 
us  the  lessons  he  had  learned  from  these  seven  months 
of  war.  He  spoke  of  the  intoxication  of  victory, 
and  said  that  when  two  combatants  faced  each  other 
in  a  mortal  conflict,  both  nearly  spent  with  exhaus- 
tion, the  man  who  could  hold  out  an  hour  longer 
was  sure  of  the  victory,  and  this  crucial  hour,  he 
said,  depended  neither  on  munitions  nor  arms,  but  on 
the  moral  factor  alone.  And  the  morale  depended 
on  the  officers.  "Be  optimistic,"  he  said,  "before 
everything  and  in  spite  of  everything."  He  told 
us  of  an  engagement  in  which  his  division  alone  stood 

54 


AT  THE  FRONT 

the  attack  of  five  brigades  (two  and  a  half  divi- 
sions), which  threw  themselves  on  him  one  after  the 
other.  That  his  men  were  able  successfully  to  repel 
this  attack,  which  lasted  five  days  and  five  nights, 
with  the  opportunity  of  only  two  hours'  rest  a  night, 
was  due  entirely  to  their  morale. 

He  gave  us  a  solid  basis  for  our  optimism  too. 
"Joffre  will  conquer  when  he  wills  and  where  he 
wills,  but  he  wants  the  victory  to  cost  as  little  as 
possible." 

It  was  a  fine  lesson  that  he  gave  us. 


And  the  men?  A  Frenchwoman  writes  on  the 
eleventh  of  August,  1914,  after  the  furloughs  were 
granted  to  the  men  at  the  front: 

The  children  are  playing  with  their  little  friends 
De  B.  under  the  surveillance  of  the  orderly  of  Mon- 
sieur de  B.,  who  fell  in  one  of  the  first  battles.  The 
orderly  is  a  brave  soldier  from  the  North  of  France 
who  cannot  pass  his  leave  of  absence  at  home  because 
the  Boches  are  occupying  his  town,  so  he  has  come 
to  spend  it  with  these  children  of  Monsieur  de  B., 
to  whom  he  is  devoted.  He  wrote  during  the  winter 
to  Madame  de  B.:  "I  have  done  my  duty  to  the 
utmost.  I  am  sure  that  my  general  is  watching  me 
from  above  and  in  doing  my  duty  I  am  still  obeying 
him." 

55 


II 

IN  THE  HOSPITAL 


II 

IN  THE  HOSPITAL 

SOLDIER  writes  to  his  aunt  in  Washington, 
October   15,   1914: 

I  am  writing  from  the  house  of  the  Sisters  of 
Compassion,  where  the  wounded  are  cared  for.  Per- 
haps you  don't  know  that  I  was  wounded.  For  more 
than  a  month  I  was  at  Grenoble,  where  my  regiment 
was  charged  with  the  defense  of  a  section  against 
a  possible  attack  from  the  Italians.1  I  must  confess 
that  it  seems  rather  ridiculous  to  me  to  protect  a 
city  that  no  one  had  any  intention  of  attacking.  A 
ministerial  circular  called  for  the  names  of  terri- 
torial officers  who  wished  to  join  the  active  regi- 
ments. I  had  my  name  inscribed.  I  fought  in  the 
Department  of  the  Somme.  On  the  morning  of  the 
twenty-fifth  of  September  in  less  than  an  hour's 
time  I  was  thrown  into  the  thick  of  the  conflict  in 


i  The  letter  was  written  early  in  the  war  when  it  was  by 
no  means  certain  that  Italy  would  not  be  held  by  the  terms 
of  the  Triple  Alliance  to  fight  on  the  side  of  Germany  and 
Austria-Hungary. 

59 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

the  first  rank,  and  for  my  baptism  of  fire  was  ex- 
posed to  a  perfect  rain  of  bullets  and  shells.  I  was 
far  less  disturbed  than  I  feared  I  should  be,  and  I 
explain  it  that  on  account  of  being  an  officer  I  had  my 
men  to  look  after.  I  had  about  two  hundred  under 
my  orders,  for  the  lack  of  captains  set  me  in  com- 
mand of  the  whole  company.  We  had  to  fight  all 
the  following  day  too  and  that  night  repulsed  a 
counter-attack  by  the  Germans.  Four  nights  in  suc- 
cession we  slept  in  the  trenches  or  in  ditches.  In 
spite  of  counter-attacks  and  continuous  firing  we 
fell  asleep  as  soon  as  we  had  a  few  free  moments. 
I  have  a  rank  which  will  waken  all  the  strength  in 
me  if  affairs  get  worse.  My  insomnia  of  the  old 
days  is  completely  gone. 

In  spite  of  our  hardships  great  and  small, 
everybody  is  happy,  full  of  enthusiasm,  and  pledged 
in  word  and  deed  to  the  destruction  of  our  enemies. 
Wonderful  spirit  which  lasts  under  fire  for  days  and 
days! 

You've  heard  of  their  marmites:  there  are  two 
sorts  of  them.  One  kind  produces  a  whirlwind  of 
white  smoke  when  it  bursts  at  an  altitude  of  about 
twenty-five  meters.  They  are  not  very  terrifying, 
but  the  other  kind,  much  larger,  burst  often  at  the 
level  of  the  ground  with  a  horrible  effect,  emitting  a 
cloud  of  yellowish  smoke.  Both  of  them  sound  like 
rattling  iron.    You'd  think  they  were  coming  at  you 

60 


IN  THE  HOSPITAL 

on  a  curtain  rod.  With  a  little  experience  you  know 
whether  these  shells  are  headed  straight  for  you  or 
not.  And  you  can  even  tell  when  they  are  headed 
for  you  whether  they  will  explode  near  you  or  far 
off.  It  furnishes  us  with  a  nice  little  game  of  wager. 
The  twenty-eighth  of  September,  at  half-past  two 
in  the  morning,  a  villainous  shell  of  the  yellow  variety 
burst  over  our  trenches  less  than  a  yard  away.  As 
several  shells  had  preceded  this  one,  we  were  all 
waiting  in  the  proper  position,  huddled  together  as 
much  as  possible  in  the  trench,  our  heads  protected 
by  a  sack — like  many  of  the  officers  I  had  a  Tyro- 
lese  sack.  The  noise  of  the  bursting  shell  was  so 
frightful  that  I  thought  I  was  cut  in  pieces.  I  found 
out  later  this  is  the  common  experience  of  men  when 
a  shell  bursts  near  them.  My  part  in  the  explosion 
was  six  wounds,  viz.,  a  piece  of  shell  in  my  left  leg, 
three  pieces  in  my  left  thigh,  a  piece  in  my  back, 
and  a  shrapnel  bullet  just  above  the  left  knee.  I 
was  carried  by  my  devoted  soldiers  to  the  ambulance 
more  than  four  kilometers  away,  was  treated  and 
then  taken  to  the  train.  We  were  stopped  at  Montdi- 
dier.  I  was  losing  a  great  deal  of  blood  and  almost 
at  the  fainting  point.  I  stayed  in  the  ambulance 
from  September  28  to  October  7.  When  I  reached 
Rouen  I  had  a  fever  and  could  not  move.  But  here 
I  am  in  a  first-class  clinic,  scientifically  and  tenderly 
cared  for. 

61 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

On  November  15,  1914,  from  the  Schneider  Hos- 
pital, far  back  of  Laval,  a  brother  writes  his  Odyssey 
from  the  city  of  Romans  to  the  Vosges  with  the  Alpine 
chasseurs : 

My  fortune  was  to  stay  for  seventy  hours  in  a 
trench.  Twenty-four  hours  of  the  time  in  the  rain. 
During  the  last  afternoon  we  counted  eight  hun- 
dred shells,  and  the  strange  thing  about  it  was  that 
after  such  a  pelting  we  had  only  one  slightly  wounded 
man.  That  day,  the  tip  end  of  a  bursting  shell 
weighing  about  a  pound  fell  just  at  my  feet.  I  kept 
it  for  a  while  in  my  kit-bag,  but  had  to  throw  it 
away  on  a  forced  march  one  day  to  lighten  my  load. 
I  have  had  at  various  times  a  number  of  trophies 
taken  on  the  firing  line:  German  helmets,  grenadier 
cloaks,  belts,  guns,  cartridges  and  so  forth.  But  I 
have  dropped  them  all  along  the  march  rather  than 
carry  them  further.  At  Etial  alone  we  found  enough 
material  to  equip  five  hundred  men.  There  was  a 
pyramid  of  helmets  and  new  shoes  in  front  of  the 
church.  We  gave  the  shoes  to  the  townsmen.  Our 
company  was  the  first  to  enter  Etial  on  the  heels 
of  the  retreating  Prussians;  and  I  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  tearing  down  with  my  own  hands  the  placard 
bordered  with  the  German  colors  which  threatened 
with  death  anyone  who  annoyed  the  German  soldiers 
or  removed  that  notice. 

But  to  return  to  the  Vosges.     After  the  glorious 


IN  THE  HOSPITAL 

Battle  of  the  Marne  the  Germans  retreated  in  haste 
toward  the  frontier.  Our  hussars  and  chasseurs  kept 
only  twenty-five  or  thirty  kilometers  behind  them  all 
the  way.  The  Germans  on  this  retreat  left  an  enor- 
mous quantity  of  munitions  behind  them,  and  the 
stragglers  were  made  prisoners.  One  day  while  we 
were  halting  by  the  roadside  we  saw  two  African 
chasseurs  bringing  in  two  German  prisoners.  One 
of  them  smiled  and  gave  us  the  military  salute. 
When  they  reached  the  tent  company  all  of  a  sudden 
I  saw  a  French  soldier  dart  out  into  the  street, 
throw  both  arms  around  this  prisoner  and  kiss  him 
on  both  cheeks.  It  was  his  Alsatian  brother  who 
had  been  drafted  into  the  German  army.    .    .    . 

We  have  gone  into  action  northeast  of  Rosieres 
in  the  Department  of  the  Somme.  We  are  in  the 
midst  of  great  fields  of  beets  in  the  Picardy  plains. 
We  had  to  march  under  fire  from  enormous  German 
guns  which  were  beyond  the  range  of  our  cannon. 
The  22nd  Regiment  was  a  little  ahead  of  the  rest 
to  the  right,  when  the  Germans  tried  to  turn  us  on 
the  left.  It  was  a  terrible  moment;  shells  from  one 
hundred  and  twenty  guns  bursting  over  our  heads, 
bullets  from  the  front  and  the  left,  and  in  case  we 
gave  way,  the  22nd  Regiment  would  be  cut  off  and  our 
artillery  exposed.  We  lay  down  flat  on  the  ground, 
and  while  in  this  position  I  was  struck  by  a  bullet. 
I  threw  away  my  knapsack  and  leaning  on  my  gun, 

63 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

crawled  eight  or  nine  hundred  meters  to  find  a 
stretcher.  If  I  met  the  soldier  who  gave  me  that 
bullet  I  would  salute  him,  for  he  was  doing  his  duty. 
In  their  rage  at  having  to  retreat  they  devastated  the 
region  through  which  they  passed  with  incredible 
ferocity.  I  have  no  reproaches  to  make  against 
the  Germans  on  the  field  of  battle,  but  in  their  treat- 
ment of  our  eastern  and  northern  country,  they 
have  forever  covered  the  name  of  Germany  with 
disgrace. 

A  soldier  writes  from  the  Grand  Palais  the  follow- 
ing undated  letter: 

I  have  had  four  serious  wounds  and  two  accidents. 
My  left  shoulder  has  been  dislocated  and  my  right 
arm  broken.  I  lay  on  the  ground  all  night  long 
absolutely  unconscious  and  losing  a  great  deal  of 
blood.  I  do  not  yet  know  how  I  came  to.  We  were 
fighting  like  lions,  we  Zouaves  of  Tunis.  Within  three 
hours  we  had  made  seven  bayonet  charges.  Dirty, 
unshaven,  covered  with  mud,  our  white  trousers 
spattered  with  blood,  we  were  handsome  all  the 
same.  For  we  had  made  these  German  barbarians 
see  the  worth  of  the  African  soldiers,  whom  they 
called  "savages."  We  hated  to  retreat,  but  we  were 
proud  to  check  their  advance  as  we  did.  I  was  about 
to  be  advanced  to  a  lieutenancy  when  I  was  wounded. 

Can  soldiers  who  advance  against  us  as  they  did 
64 


IN  THE  HOSPITAL 

over  the  bridges  of  the  Sambre  behind  Belgian  women 
and  children  as  screens,  still  claim  to  belong  to  the 
civilized  world? 

Well,  I  want  that  gold  lieutenant  stripe  and  I'm 
going  back  to  get  it  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 
I  shall  be  proud  to  give  a  little  more  of  my  blood 
and  even  my  life,  and  with  what  joy,  if  I  can  only 
help  in  punishing  these  barbarians ! 

P.  L. 


As  soon  as  they  are  in  the  hospital,  however  wel- 
come the  rest,  the  one  thought  of  the  men  is  to  get 
well  enough  to  join  their  regiments.  J.  T.  writes 
from  Lyons  on  March  26,  1915: 

I  am  starting  for  my  depot  and  from  there  I  shall 
go  to  the  front.  I  was  wounded  a  second  time  in  the 
leg,  as  you  know.  The  wound  was  quite  slight,  but 
I  have  been  very  sick.  My  strength  has  come  back 
now  completely  and  I  have  vanquished  the  acute 
attack  of  bronchitis  which  I  caught  the  day  I  was 
wounded.  I  spent  the  following  night  on  the  battle- 
field. 

So  I  am  well  again  and  going  back  to  my  place 
in  the  orchestra.  I  hope  this  time  to  be  in  the  grand 
celebration.  Are  we  downhearted?  No!  No! 
Doubtless  I  shall  be  assigned  to  some  new  regiment, 

65 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

and  therefore  I  cannot  give  you  my  exact  address 
on  the  eve  of  my  departure. 

My  days  at  Lyons  have  been  melancholy  ones. 
The  enforced  repose  of  a  long  convalescence  far  from 
the  active  scenes  at  the  front  has  worn  on  my  nerves, 
but  I  got  new  energy  the  day  I  learned  that  my 
return  to  the  colors  had  been  finally  sanctioned. 

Spring  is  coming.  The  trees  are  getting  green 
and  already  the  last  white  gulls  have  left  the  banks 
of  the  Rhone  in  their  flight  to  Switzerland.  One  could 
easily  yield  to  the  emotion  created  by  the  poetry  of 
nature  if  the  thought  of  one's  friends  fighting  there 
at  the  front  did  not  come  to  recall  one  to  the  tragic 
but  glorious  reality. 

Good-bye,  I  am  returning  to  the  fight  filled  with 
new  courage  and  new  ardor.  Good-bye,  more  heartily 
than  ever  I  say — till  after  the  victory. 


What  word  from  those  who  nursed  the  wounded? 
This  from  Lyons,  from  a  hospital  in  which  the  great 
surgeon  Oilier  worked  once,  and  in  which  the  great 
surgeon  Carrel  has  been  working  later : 

The  Americans  would  be  still  more  strongly  de- 
voted to  the  cause  of  the  Allies  if  they  really  knew 
how  the  Germans  are  conducting  this  war.  I  was 
astounded  to  see  how  the  land  for  whose  scholars 

66 


IN  THE  HOSPITAL 

I  have  the  greatest  admiration  can  reconcile  its  won- 
derful intellectual  developments  with  a  morality 
worthy  only  of  the  most  degraded  barbarians.  It  is 
certainly  proven  that  intellectual  and  moral  develop- 
ment do  not  go  hand  in  hand;  still  it  is  surprising 
to  see  how  a  race  that  has  produced  such  admirable 
characters  as  Emil  Fischer,  Ehrlich  and  so  many 
others  can  remain  morally  at  the  level  of  the  brutes 
of  the  Stone  Age.  It  is  almost  incredible.  It  shows 
us  that  the  Kultur  which  the  German  professes  to 
mediate  to  the  world  is  only  worth  throwing  away  like 
a  rotten  apple.  I  earnestly  hope  that  with  Europe 
torn  to  pieces  the  United  States  will  grow  rapidly 
enough  to  direct  the  evolution  of  the  world  toward 
an  ideal  which  shall  satisfy  not  only  our  intellectual 
and  scientific  demands,  but  our  moral  aspirations  as 
well. 

The  author  of  these  lines  could  not  stay  at  Lyons ; 
he  went  to  the  front  bearing  a  message  to  general 
headquarters  in  a  region  where  the  shells  were  still 
falling. 

Here  the  men  who  are  really  in  touch  with  the 
war  behave  admirably.  The  old  valor  of  the  race 
comes  out.  One  would  think  them  the  resurrected 
soldiers  of  the  Grand  Army.  I  hope  that  the  younger 
generation  will  come  out  of  this  war  completely 
virilized. 

67 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

A  little  later  he  writes  from  Compiegne,  a  short 
distance  from  the  enemy: 

Never  have  I  had  the  opportunity  of  meeting  men 
of  such  varied  types  under  conditions  which  brought 
out  their  characters  so  sharply.  Under  such  circum- 
stances as  these,  one  learns  to  appreciate  the  real 
value  of  men,  and  it  seems  to  me  more  and  more 
true  that  mere  intellectual  development  is  a  very 
insignificant  part  of  an  individual's  life. 

Just  now  my  life  is  very  interesting  and  not  a 
little  difficult  because  of  the  number  of  roles  I  have 
to  play  at  the  same  time.  I  have  to  be  director  of 
an  organization  which  must  function  in  actual  prac- 
tice better  than  any  other  of  its  kind,  and  at  the 
same  time  I  have  to  be  the  experimenter  in  the  labo- 
ratory divining  new  things.  These  two  occupations 
are  incompatible.  Besides,  I  have  to  spend  most 
of  my  time  traveling  at  express  rates  from  place  to 
place.  Sometimes  I  am  at  Paris  in  the  quiet  office 
at  the  Ministry,  and  the  next  day  I  find  myself  in 
a  muddy  ambulance  of  the  advanced  trenches,  or  even 
nearer  still  to  the  firing  line.  Here  it  seemed  as  if 
the  whole  character  of  the  French  race  had  been 
modified.  The  men  have  recovered  the  warlike  spirit 
of  their  forefathers,  they  have  the  smiling  courage 
of  the  heroes  of  the  First  Empire. 

The  day  before  yesterday  we  lunched  with 
68 


IN  THE  HOSPITAL 

fifteen  officers  in  a  chateau  within  range  of  the  Ger- 
man cannon.  The  table  was  strewn  with  violets. 
The  dining-room  was  decorated  with  flowers.  Wine 
flowed  freely  and  the  guests  were  much  more  quiet 
and  contained  than  in  the  times  of  peace.  Only 
a  few  minutes  after  lunch  we  were  standing  on  a 
hill  surrounded  by  the  thunder  of  the  French  bat- 
tery, which  was  answering  the  German  fire.  Every 
man  that  I  have  seen  seems  to  be  in  the  finest 
physical  and  moral  condition.  They  are  living  in 
trenches  but  in  the  open  air.  Their  health  is  ex- 
cellent, their  organizations  perfect,  and  every  man 
is  confident  that  he  is  marching  on  to  victory.    .    .    . 

Compiegne  is  tranquil  only  in  appearance.  The 
barriers  which  surround  us  do  not  isolate  us  from 
the  outside  world.  I  see  about  as  many  people  here 
as  in  New  York.  Furthermore,  I  am  traveling  about 
a  great  deal  in  automobiles,  either  along  the  front 
or  back  and  forth  from  Paris.  All  that  takes  up 
my  time.  Sometimes  we  meet  with  deplorable  acci- 
dents, for  only  a  few  minutes'  ride  from  Compiegne 
brings  us  out  into  the  region  of  the  shells.  I  have 
lost  my  best  chauffeur  and  one  of  the  others  is 
disabled. 

Our  hospital  is  full  of  wounded  men.  Thanks  to 
the  surgeons  of  the  ambulances  of  the  advanced  line, 
I  get  the  kind  of  patients  I  want.  My  colleagues 
are   all  working  hard  and   faithfully.     Dr.   D.,   of 

69 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

whom  I  have  spoken  to  you,  has  discovered  some 
substance  which  seems  to  be  able  to  sterilize  flesh 
wounds.  If  our  present  experiments  confirm  our 
former  observations  we  shall  have  made  important 
progress  in  the  treatment  of  wounds.  D.  is  a  re- 
markable man,  and  I  am  in  hopes  that  our  researches 
will  result  in  important  discoveries. 

P.  S. — I  am  sending  you  a  copy  of  the  report 
from  headquarters  signed  by  General  D.  It  will 
give  you  a  true  idea  of  the  way  the  Germans  are 
conducting  this  war. 


Ill 

IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY 


Ill 

IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

Chambre  des  Deputes 

Lamaguere-  p.  Labarthe- 
Inard  (Haute  Garonne) 

8  October,  1914. 

YOU  can  imagine  in  what  anxiety  we  are  living, 
but  how  could  we  be  otherwise  but  firm  and 
courageous,  my  wife  and  I,  when  everyone,  I  say 
even  to  the  poorest  peasant,  is  furnishing  us  a  superb 
example  of  self-denial  and  heroism?  You  who  have 
a  soldier's  soul  would  be  rejoiced  to  see  the  calm 
courage,  the  coolness  and  the  zeal  of  the  recruits 
and  the  troops,  whether  in  formation  or  at  the  sta- 
tions. All  through  our  cities  of  the  South,  which 
are  so  ardent  and  often  so  excitable,  there  is  not  a 
sign  of  excess  nor  a  discordant  note.  It  is  truly  a 
fine  awakening. 

Our  17th  Corps  was  decimated  in  the  earliest  bat- 
tles of  the  war  and  our  region  here  acquitted  its 
cruel  debt  to  the  country  with  noble  generosity. 
From  the   economic   point   of  view   our   population 

73 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

has  not  suffered  much,  neither  have  raw  materials 
been  lacking.  I  am  most  happy  to  hear  from  you 
that  the  sympathies  of  the  American  people  are 
with  us.  It  is  a  great  weight  on  our  side  of  the 
balance. 

The  world  has  been  too  patient  with  Prussia. 
Read  over  again  the  speeches  of  Thiers,  the  Schles- 
wig-Holstein  affair  and  the  history  of  the  days  of 
1852.  It  is  the  same  story  over  and  over  again  of 
cynical  lies  and  brutality.  I  have  had  experience 
with  some  of  this  policy  in  the  Moroccan  business. 
And  I  assure  you  that  at  times  the  cunning  rascality 
of  Berlin  has  perverted  public  opinion  even  in 
France.  But  now  the  eyes  of  the  world  are  being 
opened,  and  civilized  humanity  realizes  that  the  de- 
struction not  of  Germany,  but  of  the  intolerable 
Prussian  hegemony  is  essential  to  the  world's  wel- 
fare. 

Jean  Cruppi, 
Former  Minister. 


A  Frenchman  writes  to  an  American  friend  from 
Paris,  November  15,  1914: 

Our  France,  our  dear,  beautiful  France,  has  shown 
herself  wonderful  in  this  war.  Pardon  my  enthu- 
siasm, but  when  one  speaks  of  a  mother  one  is 
allowed  to  show  pride  in  her.     France  has  shown 

74 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

herself  wonderful  because  she  has  shown  herself  as 
she  is  in  reality,  and  not  as  she  has  allowed  herself 
to  appear  at  times  through  sheer  negligence.  At  4 
p.m.  on  the  first  of  August  the  entire  French  people 
were  welded  in  a  single  hour  into  the  most  perfect 
union.  You  would  have  to  see  it  to  realize  it.  There 
are  no  more  parties  in  France.  The  revolutionist 
Herve,  but  yesterday  a  man  without  a  country,  is 
shouting,  "Vive  la  France!"  The  most  rabid  social- 
ists of  yesterday  are  at  the  front,  dying  under  the 
common  soldier's  cloak  or  the  officer's  uniform.  Not  a 
newspaper  indulges  in  partisan  vituperation.  In  the 
great  committee  which  has  charge  of  the  interests 
of  the  nation  and  whose  members  bring  their  private 
resources  to  the  altar  of  the  country,  you  will  find 
side  by  side  revolutionists  and  monarchists,  radicals 
and  progressives,  bishops,  pastors,  rabbis  and  free- 
masons. There  is  only  one  bloc  now  in  France — a 
bloc  much  more  solid  than  the  ordinary  political 
one  made  of  an  amalgam  of  opposing  wills  and  prin- 
ciples reconciled  in  appearance  only.  This  bloc  is 
one  that  has  really  existed  all  the  time,  namely,  the 
soul  of  France  which  we  thought  was  divided  be- 
cause it  was  covered  over  with  the  veneer  of  politics. 
The  veneer  disappeared  on  the  first  day  of  August, 
and  revealed  the  soul  of  France.  Oh,  how  little  the 
people  understand  us  who  believe  in  the  vanity,  the 
inconsistency  and  the  volatility  of  Frenchmen ! 

75 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

Instead  you  will  find  here  a  cool,  resolute,  confi- 
dent seriousness,  a  robust  optimism  pervading  all 
classes  of  society,  sacrifices  generously  accepted,  no 
lassitude,  an  iron  determination  to  have  done  with 
the  war,  a  loyal  upright  attitude  towards  our 
enemies,  as  towards  our  dear  friends  of  England  and 
Russia,  a  profound  respect  and  an  admiration  with- 
out bounds  for  heroic  Belgium,  a  thousand  examples 
of  private  devotion  to  the  fatherland  in  every  form, 
and  back  of  it  all,  resting  on  the  unshakable  confi- 
dence in  our  cause,  the  life  of  the  nation  goes  on 
calmly  in  its  work  and,  more  than  formerly,  in  its 
prayer  too. 

The  German  military  machine,  powerful  as  it  is, 
will  not  prevail  against  the  allied  forces,  strong  in 
the  conviction  that  their  labors  are  founded  on  the 
right.  The  struggle  will  be  long,  we  know,  it  will 
be  hard  too,  but  the  German  will  break  his  wings 
in  it  at  last — that  we  know  too.  So  we  look  forward 
to  the  day  of  his  exhaustion  and  defeat.  I  trust 
that  you  will  not  doubt  the  outcome  in  your  country 
which  has  so  freely  given  us  its  sympathy  and  shared 
with  us  the  love  of  the  truth.  Believe  me,  we  recipro- 
cate  fully  this    cordial   sympathy. 

You  will  find  Europe  much  changed  and  frontiers 
altered,  my  dear  friend.  Believe  with  us  that  these 
changes  will  be  favorable  to  our  cause.  Let  me 
repeat  again — certain  that  you  will  spread  the  truth 

76 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

about  if  you  hear  any  assertions  to  the  contrary — 
that  France  at  this  moment  is  perfect  in  union, 
courage,  strength,  confidence,  faith,  truth  and  honor. 
She  has  men,  she  has  faithful  allies,  she  has  time, 
she  has  heroism  to  spare — and  she  will  conquer. 

G.  M. 
*  *  *  *  # 

From  a  Frenchwoman  after  the  Battle  of  the 
Marne,  September  15,  1914: 

The  enemy  is  repulsed.  He  is  in  flight,  God  be 
praised!  Our  hearts,  so  long  filled  with  anguish 
at  the  steady  advance  of  the  barbarians,  are  now 
bursting  with  hope.  The  Germans  have  trodden 
our  soil,  they  have  plundered  it,  devastated  it.  What 
matters,  now  that  they  are  departing,  driven  by  the 
French  armies !  Our  sacrifices  will  not  have  been 
in  vain.  All  the  men  who  have  fallen  and  who  shall 
still  fall  may  rest  in  peace ;  and  those  who  weep  their 
loss  will  not  have  added  to  their  grief  the  humiliation 
of  a  France  conquered,  wretched  and  flouted. 

Joseph  T.  has  been  wounded.  He  has  borne  it 
with  manly  courage  and  is  in  hopes  of  getting  back 
to  the  army  soon.  Madame  A.  [a  colonel's  wife] 
has  cut  short  her  vacation  to  the  North  and  has 
returned  to  Limoges  to  work  for  the  Red  Cross. 
Marie  de  F.  writes  that  her  mother  is  dying  and  her 
husband  has  gone  back  to  the  service.     They  have 

77 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

had  no  news  of  their  son,  whom  you  perhaps  were 
the  last  one  to  bid  good-bye  at  Paris,  when  he  started 
out  in  all  the  pride  of  his  new  uniform  of  sub- 
lieutenant of  Hussars.  Captain  R.  d'A.  and  one 
of  the  sons  of  General  O.  have  died  on  the  field  of 
honor.     The  list  of  our  dead  will  be  long. 

France,  dear  France,  so  wounded,  so  cruelly 
robbed  of  her  soil  and  her  sons,  will  yet  emerge  vic- 
torious from  this  terrible  crisis.  We  are  under  no 
illusions,  but  have  the  greatest  confidence.  Without 
doubt  we  still  have  a  great  deal  to  do  to  conquer 
the  invader  and  drive  him  from  our  land.  But  this 
first  success,  the  victory  of  the  Marne,  is  a  won- 
derful start.  It  has  given  our  soldiers  a  zeal  and 
ardor  which  will  not  flag.  Let  us  not  cease  our 
prayers,  and  let  us  be  ready  to  make  every  cour- 
ageous sacrifice  possible. 

We  are  defending  our  cause  valiantly,  but  the 
enemy  is  splendidly  organized  and  intrenched  on  our 
soil.  It  will  be  hard  to  dislodge  him.  I  see  by  the 
papers  that  the  bombardment  of  the  Cathedral  of 
Rheims  has  stirred  a  feeling  of  righteous  indigna- 
tion in  every  nation.  There  is  good  reason  for  it 
too,  for  never  was  there  so  wanton  and  useless  a 
piece  of  barbarism  perpetrated.  It  is  fit  to  rank 
with  the  massacres  of  Louvain. 

The  letter  continues  on  September  30,  1914,  after 
the  capture  of  Antwerp: 

78 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

It  is  raining  and  the  dismal  skies  add  to  our  deso- 
lation within.  To  think  of  this  new  disaster.  The 
papers  keep  us  in  suspense  with  vague  news  and 
reports.  Poor  heroic  Belgians!  They  have  fought 
with  all  their  strength,  but  how  could  they  stand 
this  iron  tide?  I  recall  the  pretty  little  country  so 
calm  and  peaceful  which  you  and  I  have  traveled 
over  together  in  the  good  days  of  the  past.  It  is 
frightful  to  think  what  has  happened  to  it.  And 
now  it  is  our  soil  that  is  to  suffer  again.  It  is  our 
own  beautiful  Paris  that  they  are  aiming  at.  Ah, 
how  I  should  like  to  be  back  there! 

Your  mother  received  a  letter  from  the  R.'s  this 
morning.  Those  brave  people  stayed  on  in  their 
home  and  lived  through  the  frightful  hours  of  the 
battle.  They  went  down  into  the  cellar  at  first,  but 
came  up  to  aid  the  wounded  who  were  brought  to 
the  house.  They  heard  the  cannon  and  musket  fire 
for  hours.    .    .    . 

I  had  a  letter  from  Miss  H.  yesterday  telling  of 
the  atrocities  committed  on  the  poor  refugees.  She 
saw  them  herself.     It  is  frightful.    .    .    . 

October  9,  1914. 
Oh,  the  never-to-be-forgotten  hours  of  anguish  and 
suspense!     We  seize  the  papers  and  devour  the  dis- 
patches.     They   are  upon   us,  trampling  down  the 
poor  villages  to  reach  us  and  crush  us.     They  are 

79 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

implacable,  mad  in  their  hate  and  fury.  But  we 
are  resisting  them  magnificently.  Oh,  the  sacrifices, 
the  blood,  the  misery! 

November  7>  1914. 
Our  race  'has  proved  fhat  it  is  neither  degenerate 
nor  changed  from  the  Frenchmen  of  former  days 
who  knew  how  to  conquer.  How  they  fight  and  die, 
our  little  pioupious!  Our  generals  are  splendid. 
We  cannot  doubt  the  final  success  of  our  armies. 
God  grant  that  it  may  not  be  too  long  delayed,  for 
it  is  heartrending  to  see  so  many  suffer  and  die. 
We  shall  preserve  the  anguish  of  this  hour  in  our 
hearts  for  ever,  and  our  victorious  fatherland  will 
bear  the  marks  of  these  tragic  days.  The  dead  will 
not  return  with  victory,  and  whole  families  will  be 
plunged  into  mourning  for  life.  Oh,  what  a  ter- 
rible thing  war  is,  and  what  a  responsibility  rests  on 
the  shoulders  of  those  who  provoke  war! 

The  letter  concludes  on  November  20,  1914,  from 
a  little  country  town: 

We  devour  five  or  six  newspapers  a  day.  We  go 
every  morning  and  sometimes  in  the  afternoon  to 
read  the  dispatches.  At  night  there  is  a  crowd 
around  the  bulletins.  Some  kind  soul  volunteers  to 
read  the  dispatches  aloud  so  that  everybody  can 
hear  them.     There  is   a  great  stir  in  the  barracks 

80 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

here.  Some  of  the  troops  are  getting  ready  to  go 
to  the  front,  and  others  are  starting  on  their  way 
singing  songs.  It  makes  you  sad  to  think  they  are 
going,  so  many  of  them,  to  their  death.    .    .    . 

I  have  already  told  you  of  the  death  of  my  brother, 
an  artillery  captain.  He  was  killed  near  Rheims. 
Another  one  of  my  brothers,  who  had  fought  in 
China,  re-enlisted  as  captain  of  the  Zouaves  and  has 
just  been  killed  in  the  North.  He  was  picking  up  his 
wounded  men  one  evening  after  a  hot  scrimmage  in 
which  he  had  been  victorious,  when  a  stray  bullet 
struck  him  full  in  the  breast.  My  third  brother, 
sergeant  in  the  light  infantry,  has  been  wounded. 
My  sisters-in-law  are  bearing  up  nobly.  But  my 
parents,  who  went  to  Paris  on  the  approach  of  the 
Germans,  are  inconsolable.  They  are  trying  to  bear 
their  grief  stoically,  believing  that  their  sons  died 
happy  in  dying  for  their  country. 

C.J. 


On  January  12,  1915,  a  member  of  the  French 
Academy  writes: 

We  live  on  as  you  saw  us.  Madame  B.  is  working 
for  our  ambulance,  my  son  is  at  the  ministry  of  war, 
and  I  am  doing  what  I  can  to  serve  my  country 
with  pen  and  speech.  Army  and  people  alike  are 
filled  with  confidence.     There  is  no  sign  of  boasting 

81 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

but  a  calm,  firm  resolution  to  hold  out  to  the  bitter 
end.  The  campaign  of  terror  inaugurated  by  the 
Germans  has  failed  to  frighten  us. 

E.  Boutroux. 

The  distinguished  philosopher,  Henri  Bergson, 
writes  from  Paris  to  a  friend  in  America  on  the 
twenty-seventh  of  May,  1915: 

The  resolution  to  conquer  has  never  been  stronger 
in  France  than  it  is  at  present.  The  disposition  of 
our  soldiers,  as  indeed  of  our  entire  population,  is 
admirable.  They  have  all  been  reconciled  from  the 
start  to  the  most  extreme  sacrifices,  with  the  clear 
consciousness  that  it  is  not  only  the  cause  of  their 
fatherland  but  that  of  humanity  and  civilization  as 
well  which  is  at  stake.  Under  these  conditions  the 
result  of  the  conflict  cannot  be  doubtful.  But  what 
terrible  sacrifices  it  will  have  cost ! 

H.  Bergson. 


P.  A.  wrifes  on  the  eighteenth  of  April,  1915: 

The  war  with  its  preoccupations  and  activities 
absorbs  every  minute,  every  second.  I  have  been 
organizing  hospitals,  manufacturing  powder,  collect- 
ing stockings  and  underwear  for  the  soldiers,  writing 
appeals  in  the  papers,  making  speeches  on  the  plat- 
form, hurrying  through  the  battlefields  of  Flanders 
in    automobiles    to    install    ambulance    stations    and 

88 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

secure  the  prompt  removal  of  the  wounded.  The  nine 
months  that  have  passed  seem  more  like  nine  hours. 
It  seems  only  yesterday  that  we  were  on  the  road  to 
Albert  among  our  bleeding  soldiers.  And  here  we 
are  on  the  same  road  again  to-day.  It  is  the  same 
struggle,  the  same  spectacle,  but  thank  God  we  are 
more  confident  of  victory  to-day. 

I  saw  a  night  battle  at  Nieuport  a  little  while  ago 
which  would  have  interested  you.  It  was  a  superb 
moonlight  night.  I  was  in  a  ruined  church  which 
was  paved  with  new  tombstones.  The  bullets  flew 
through  the  church  grazing  the  pillars  and  chipping 
the  corners  of  the  walls.  I  have  written  an  article 
about  it  and  will  send  you  the  magazine.  Why 
weren't  you  here?  All  our  generals  are  filled  with 
confidence,  they  believe  that  the  enemy  is  pretty  well 
exhausted,  but  still  capable  of  dogged  resistance  and 
desperate  attacks.  Anyway  they  cannot  break  our 
lines  now. 


As  the  war  continues  its  economic  demands  grow 
clearer.  Men  are  called  from  the  front  to  work  in 
the  factories.  Engineers,  chemists,  and  other  spe- 
cialists are  summoned  home  for  their  expert  knowl- 
edge. They  are  sorry  to  leave  the  front,  but  their 
comrades  write  them  from  the  firing  line  saying  that 
they  are  glad  to  have  them  where  they  are.  Whether 
in  the  shop  or  at  the  front  they  are  serving  their 
country,  where  they  can  serve  her  best,  and  there  is 

83 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

no  distinction  of  merit  between  men  who  give  their 
best  service  to  France.  On  the  twenty-eighth  of 
June,  1915,  P.  G.  writes: 

A  short  time  ago  I  read  a  letter  from  George  in 
which  he  says  that  he  is  uncomfortable  because  he 
is  at  the  rear  in  a  position  of  safety.  I  want  to  give 
him  and  all  of  his  companions  who  for  various  rea- 
sons are  not  at  the  front,  my  opinion  on  this  point. 

The  present  war  is  not  like  the  wars  of  the  Em- 
pire, depending  upon  force  alone.  It  is  a  war  of 
men  and  munitions.  Nothing  distresses  me  more 
than  to  think  that  our  coffers  are  not  full.  Now,  to 
have  munitions  we  must  have  able  men  and  we  must 
have  money.  Goodwill  is  not  enough.  Without 
experts  to  manufacture  them  our  munitions  of  war 
will  be  inferior  and  even  worthless.  We  must  have 
money  too,  and  to  that  end  our  commerce  and  in- 
dustry must  be  kept  up.  Now,  in  my  judgment  all 
those  who  on  account  of  age  or  of  infirmity  or  for 
reasons  of  professional  skill,  stay  at  home  and  do 
their  duty  to  the  extent  of  their  powers,  are  as 
deserving  as  we  who  are  at  the  front.  We  even  have 
periods  of  rest  that  they  do  not.  No,  there  are  good 
Frenchmen  and  bad  Frenchmen  only — but  the  latter 
are  extremely  few, 


IV 
THE  FUTURE 


IV 
THE  FUTURE 

IT  is  the  certainty  of  victory  that  gives  us  our 
confidence,  and  what  gives  us  this  certainty  of 
victory  is  the  profound  conviction  of  the  in- 
justice of  the  attack  against  us  and  the  barbarity  of 
our  aggressors.  M.  Pottier,  curator  in  the  Museum 
of  the  Louvre  and  member  of  the  Academy  of  In- 
scriptions and  Belles  Lettres,  writes  to  a  friend  in 
Boston: 

The  war  that  they  are  waging  against  us  is  a 
war  of  extermination,  into  which  no  consideration 
for  humanity  or  civilization  enters.  Except  for  the 
political  consequences  that  might  result,  I  am  per- 
suaded that  the  Germans  would  have  no  scruples  in 
destroying  the  public  buildings  of  Paris,  including 
Notre  Dame  and  the  Louvre.  I  have  done  my  best 
to  safeguard  the  scientific  treasures  with  which  you 
are  familiar,  but  still  I  must  confess  that  they  are 
not  sufficiently  protected  against  a  deliberate  and 
sustained  bombardment.  You  would  find  it  hard  to 
recognize    our    poor    galleries    and    showcases    all 

87 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

emptied  of  their  contents.     The  Ambassador  of  the 
United  States  has  been  in  to  look  at  them. 

Since  we  have  seen  the  manifesto  of  the  German 
"intellectuals,"  signed  by  names  which  we  have  long 
been  accustomed  to  honor,  we  know  that  the  scholars 
and  artists  of  Germany  are  marching  in  the  train 
of  the  men  who  burned  the  library  of  Louvain,  bom- 
barded Rheims,  and  shattered  the  sculptures  of  the 
cathedral  which  ten  centuries  of  war  and  invasions 
had  respected :  the  men  who  tried  to  fire  Notre  Dame 
de  Paris  with  bombs,  and  killed  children  playing  in 
our  streets.  No  civilized  nation  in  the  world's  his- 
tory until  to-day  has  given  us  the  astonishing  spec- 
tacle of  men  of  science  justifying  and  glorifying 
murderous  attacks  made  contrary  to  the  laws  of 
nations  and  even  in  defiance  of  treaties  signed  by 
their  own  diplomats. 

In  addition  to  these  brazen  attempts  to  justify 
the  outrages  that  they  cannot  deny,  they  enter  a 
hearty  and  peremptory  rebuttal  of  other  attempts 
which  are  amply  proven  by  official  witnesses.  "It  is 
not  true  that  .  .  .  it  is  not  true  that" — they  re- 
iterate. How  can  men  schooled  in  our  scientific 
methods  so  demean  themselves  as  to  sign  statements 
the  truth  of  which  they  have  no  means  of  controlling, 
and  on  the  matter  of  which  they  have  no  precise 
information,  being  far  away  from  the  scene  of 
action? 

88 


THE  FUTURE 

I  am  glad  to  say  that  only  five  of  the  fifteen  cor- 
responding members  and  associates  of  our  Academy 
of  Inscriptions,  and  only  four  of  the  twenty  mem- 
bers of  the  Academy  of  Science  signed  the  manifesto. 
It  seems  then  that  even  in  Germany  some  few  men 
are  left  with  enough  confidence  to  refuse  their  assent 
to  such  a  criminal  procedure.  We  are  glad  to  believe 
it.  Be  assured  of  this,  we  are  fighting  to  save  the 
world  from  the  Prussian  corporal,  from  that  spirit 
of  hatred  and  proud  domination  that  has  invaded 
and  contaminated  the  whole  of  Germany.  We  are 
combating  the  spirit  of  disloyalty  and  falsehood  that 
has  characterized  every  move  of  the  Germans  in  this 
war:  viz.,  the  preparation  for  the  war  by  a  system 
of  espionage  and  by  purchases  of  land  which  have 
been  going  on  for  years;  the  tricks  in  battle,  such 
as  putting  French  uniforms  on  German  soldiers  in 
order  to  decoy  our  unsuspecting  men  into  an  am- 
bush ;  the  convoy  of  military  stores  under  the  flag  of 
the  Red  Cross ;  the  transportation  of  men  and  muni- 
tions into  the  trenches  on  stretchers ;  the  ships  dis- 
guised as  Russian  boats  in  order  to  enter  the  harbor 
and  torpedo  the  unsuspecting  enemy.  Never,  never 
will  we  conduct  a  war  in  such  fashion,  repugnant  to 
all  nations  with  a  sense  of  honor  and  loyalty.  We 
still  believe  that  the  moral  factor  is  essential  to  give 
our  soldiers  the  conviction  that  they  are  defending 
a  just  cause  with  honor. 

89 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

Permeated  with  the  idea  that  she  is  fighting  for 
the  defense  of  rights  and  liberties  of  the  nations, 
France,  with  her  good  friends  and  allies  is  confident 
of  the  future.  She  knows  that  victory  belongs  to 
the  nations  that  are  just,  calm,  courageous  and 
patient.  She  knows  that  all  these  qualities  are  hers. 
The  man  best  qualified  to  speak  on  international  law 
not  only  in  France,  but  also,  even  by  the  consent  of 
the  Germans  themselves,  in  the  world,  wrote  from 
Bordeaux  to  an  American  friend  in  November,  1914: 

I  am  deeply  pained  by  this  war  as  a  man  and  a 
jurist,  as  well  as  a  Frenchman.  What  good  are  all 
our  grand  efforts  if  they  are  to  result  only  in 
"scraps  of  paper"?  Do  not  believe  that  I  am  anxious 
only  for  the  war  to  end.  In  spite  of  all  the  evils 
that  war  brings  in  its  train,  the  Allies  must  fight 
on  until  the  might  of  Germany  is  completely  hum- 
bled, and  due  reparation  is  exacted  from  her;  only 
then  can  we  have  a  durable  peace,  and  then  perhaps 
can  we  begin  to  talk  of  international  law. 

Louis  Renault. 


France  has  received  too  many  expressions  of  gen- 
eral sympathy  from  the  Americans  to  allow  her  to 
doubt  the  feelings  of  the  greatest  of  the  neutral 
powers.  In  the  letter  of  M.  Pottier  to  a  friend  in 
America,  which  we  quoted  a  few  pages  above,  are  the 
following  lines: 

90 


THE  FUTURE 

We  can  ask  only  for  moral  support  from  your 
country,  but  we  may  count  on  her  for  that.  We  have 
read  with  grateful  emotions  the  words  of  your  ex- 
President  Roosevelt,  which  are  so  encouraging  for 
us.  We  have  understood  the  meaning  of  President 
Wilson's  curt  and  dignified  reply  to  Emperor  Wil- 
liam, when  the  Germans,  whom  the  Allies  accused  of 
using  dum-dum  bullets,  brought  the  impudent  coun- 
tercharge of  their  use  by  the  French.  The  Americans 
well  know  which  side  is  fighting  for  the  right  and  for 
the  respective  treaties.  The  example  of  heoric  Bel- 
gium points  the  way  of  duty. 

While  the  German  propagandists  were  exerting 
their  zeal  in  pleading  an  unjust  cause  before  the 
neutral  nations,  France  judged  that  she  had  but  to 
rely  in  dignified  reticence  on  the  sound  judgment 
and  sense  of  justice  prevalent  among  the  American 
people.  M.  Pottier  writes  from  Paris  on  the  tenth 
of  April,  1915: 

It  is  asked  in  a  friendly  way  why  the  French  do 
noc  strive  more  actively  in  America  against  the  prop- 
aganda made  by  the  partisans  of  the  Germans. 
Compared  with  the  quantities  of  letters,  papers, 
prospectuses,  and  the  views  with  which  neutral 
nations  are  being  swamped  and  inundated,  our  very 
modest  communication  and  pamphlets  attract  but 
little  attention. 

I  quite  understand  this :  and  often  among  our 
91 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

friends  we  have  been  a  little  disturbed  by  this  dis- 
proportion. Already  efforts  have  been  made  to 
counteract  this,  and  several  associations  have  been 
organized  to  make  clear  to  those  in  other  countries 
the  position  we  have  taken  in  this  great  European 
struggle.    .    .    . 

One  of  my  Italian  colleagues,  who  from  the  be- 
ginning had  courageously  taken  sides  against  Ger- 
many, wrote  in  La  Tribune  of  Rome  the  fifth  of 
February : 

"I  have  expressed  my  sentiments  of  invincible 
horror  for  the  torture  inflicted  upon  innocent  and 
heroic  Belgium.  I  have  expressed  also,  notwith- 
standing the  deluge  of  German  newspaper  clippings 
which  every  day  heap  up  the  waste  basket  in  my 
office — I  have  expressed  my  absolute  conviction  that 
this  conflict  was  let  loose  by  the  agreement  and  by  the 
deliberate  wish  of  Austro-German  imperialism. 

"Immediately  open  war  against  me  was  declared 
by  my  honorable  colleagues  and  by  the  German 
press.  I  saw  pour  in  torrents  into  my  house,  like 
discharges  of  a  famous  '450,'  not  only  insulting 
articles  from  newspapers  of  the  Goths,  but  personal 
letters  of  protestation,  of  rage,  of  threats." 

This  is  something  of  which  the  French  could  never 
be  accused.  We  would  take  care  not  to  imitate  the 
indiscreet  and  stupid  measures,  which,  far  from 
obtaining  the  result  expected,  either  exasperate  or 

92 


THE  FUTURE 

make  smile,  according  to  the  disposition,  those  who 
are  the  butt  of  these  persecutors.  Such  a  lack  of 
moderation  and  of  tact  will  lead  always  to  the  quick 
confusion  of  propaganda.  Ne  quid  nimis,  said 
Latins:  Excess  in  everything  is  a  fault. 

For  another  reason:  Does  it  at  all  concern  us 
to  answer  back  in  ceaseless  protestations,  as  do  the 
Germans?  Certainly  not.  Facts  have  spoken  for 
us.  What  could  we  add?  Is  it  not  enough  to  recall 
the  facts  and  to  confirm  them?  One  can  well  under- 
stand how  our  adversaries  feel  the  need  of  pleading 
their  cause.  What  a  mass  of  assertions  they  must 
prove  before  the  world! 


When  American  sympathy  for  the  justice  of  our 
cause  was  freely  expressed  on  the  dastardly  sinking 
of  the  Lusitania,  the  American  papers  sent  to  the 
front  were  hailed  with  joy  by  the  Frenchmen  who 
had  come  from  America.  They  immediately  converted 
them  into  a  new  kind  of  projectile  and  threw  them 
into  the  German  trenches.  A  young  Frenchman  who 
had  lived  eight  years  in  this  country  writes  from  the 
trenches  to  a  friend  in  New  York,  June  24,  1915: 

Can  you  guess  what  it  is  to  spend  twelve  days 
and  twelve  nights,  most  of  which  are  nuits  blanches, 
in  first  line  with  very  little,  if  anything,  to  smoke? 
I  don't  think  you  can.  So  I  will  not  attempt  to 
tell  you  how  I  felt  when  I  received  your  four  boxes 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

of  Oxfords.  To  be  sure,  many  of  my  friends  were 
in  the  same  plight,  and  as  selfishness  is  unknown  in 
war  time,  they,  too,  had  a  glorious  smoke  on  you. 
Many  of  them  had  never  tasted  American  cigarettes, 
but  I  can  assure  you  they  found  a  real  delight  in 
puffing  them.  We  usually  have  plenty  of  tobacco 
and  everything  else,  and  if  this  is  the  worst  war  men 
have  ever  seen,  it  is  perfectly  true  that  soldiers  were 
never  taken  better  care  of.  The  fact  that  we  ran 
short  of  tobacco  was  due  to  an  unlooked-for  alerte 
which  woke  us  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  while 
we  were  au  repos.  In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  say, 
we  were  going  to  an  unknown  destination.  Talk 
about  thrills — that's  where  you  get  them — and  as 
strange  as  it  may  sound  to  an  outsider,  we  do  love 
them.  If  you  recall  what  has  been  going  on  for 
the  last  few  weeks,  I  think  you  can  safely  guess 
where  we  were  bound  for — 'nough  said.  All  the  piou- 
pious  that  had  a  whack  at  them  want  to  join  me  in 
thanking  you.  My  friends  in  New  York  and  else- 
where have  sent  me  about  a  dozen  boxes  of  one  hun- 
dred Rameses,  too,  but  I  never  received  them,  except 
one. 

Reading  over  your  letter  makes  me  think  how 
fortunate  you  are.  Not  that  I  regret  having  come 
— for  I  never  would  have  dared  show  myself  to 
anyone  had  I  stayed — but  simply  because  this  is 
no  life.     I  sometimes  think  how  foolish  men  are  to 

94 


THE  FUTURE 

have  to  resort  to  these  mad  orgies  of  wholesale  mur- 
der and  pillage  in  order  to  settle  their  differences. 
Talk  about  progress  and  civilization !  Why,  we 
might  as  well  destroy  the  hypocrisy  of  it,  since  it 
cannot  save  us  from  these  calamities,  which  already 
involve  millions  of  homes.  Why  not  set  back  the 
clock  a  few  centuries  and  revert  to  the  simple  habits 
of  the  caveman.  This  may  sound  like  strange  talk 
to  you;  no  doubt  it  will.  But  what  do  you  think 
happens  to  the  gray  matter,  when  thousands,  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  shells  are  hurled  above  one's 
head?  Although  I  do  know  something  happens,  I'm 
sure  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  And  what  about  the  un- 
told misery  caused  by  such  monstrous  bombard- 
ments? No  one  is  better  able  to  know  it  than  I. 
Sometimes  I  get  so  damned  mad  to  see  in  what 
savage  way  the  Germans  conduct  the  war  that  I  wish 
to  turn  in  my  brassard  and  get  back  my  rifle.  I've 
tried  it  twice  now,  but  the  major  wouldn't  let  me. 

Fortunately  this  trench  warfare  won't  last  for 
ever,  and  I  do  earnestly  hope  that  we  shall  soon  be 
able  to  measure  ourselves  in  the  open  with  ces  mes- 
sieurs and  have  it  out  like  white  men  should.  Of 
course  they  are  not  friends  of  the  assault  a  la 
baionnette.  I  don't  blame  them  either,  for  although 
they  can  run  pretty  fast — I've  seen  them — they  can't 
get  away  from  our  grognards. 

Some  three  weeks  ago  I  threw  a  bunch  of  American 
95 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

papers  into  their  trench  and  waited  for  results.  I 
wish  you  could  have  heard  them  groan  and  shout 
and  swear;  they  were  nothing  short  of  raving  mad. 
Evidently  someone  among  them  could  read  English, 
anyway,  the  Tribune  cartoons  were  eloquent  enough, 
especially  the  one  you  sent,  also  the  one  representing 
Count  von  Bernstorff  addressing  his  country's  sym- 
pathies to  the  American  public  over  the  Lusitania 
dead,  entitled  "The  Crowning  Insult."  Have  you 
seen  it?  It  must  have  struck  them  harder  than  any 
shell  ever  did — at  least  judging  from  results. 

J.  B.  C. 

Another  young  Frenchman  from  America,  a  lieu- 
tenant, writes  from  the  hospital  where  he  lies  severely 
wounded  the  following  reflections  on  the  character 
of  the  war  and  the  combatants'  views  of  the  duty 
of  neutrals : 

I  am  indeed  much  better,  though  not  very  well  as 
yet.  I  have  been  so  near  death  and  seen  such  ter- 
rible things,  I  have  so  often  despaired  of  coming  out 
of  the  struggle  alive,  that  this  new  life  here  away 
from  the  battlefield  seems  a  dream.  In  spite  of  the 
sufferings  and  great  losses  of  men,  we  are  full  of 
hope  and  courage.  We  know  we  must  triumph  and 
victory  will  be  ours.  France  will  not  die.  It  is  neces- 
sary to  the  world,  above  all  to  the  world  of  thought, 
your  world  and  mine.     This  war  is  the  enemy  of 

96 


THE  FUTURE 

thought ;  it  is  the  enslavement  of  all  the  truly  spirit- 
ual powers  to  a  work  of  tyranny  and  destruction. 

One  day,  I  hope,  I  shall  tell  you  of  some  of  the 
things  I  have  seen,  and  then  you  will  understand 
that  Germany  has  only  begun  to  spell  the  words, 
"humanity,"  "civilization,"  "personal  dignity," 
"progress,"  based  on  principles  of  "liberty  and  jus- 
tice." At  first  I  could  not  be  bitter  towards  the 
Germans.  I  thought  the  military  party  alone  could 
be  held  responsible  for  the  unspeakable  cruelty  of 
the  soldiers.  I  said  to  myself,  "The  people  are 
blind,  they  have  been  misled.  They  believe  themselves 
attacked  and  threatened  in  their  very  existence.  We 
must  only  free  them,  free  Europe  and  her  German 
people  as  well,  from  the  German  military  cast." 
But  facts  do  not  allow  me  to  make  that  distinction 
bona  fide  any  longer.  The  Germans  know  what  they 
are  doing.  They  have  been  trained  to  think,  to  feel, 
to  speak  as  their  masters.  They  'honor,  venerate, 
follow  them  and  have  one  faith — the  absolute  good- 
ness of  the  German  nation,  the  sacredness  of  its 
mission  to  a  corrupted  world;  faith  in  a  gospel  of 
military  strength  which  will  make  of  all  peoples 
either  the  slaves  of  Germany  or  willing  subjects. 
We  all  must  either  love  them,  or,  through  fear,  re- 
spect and  honor  them.  They  will  give  other  nations 
independence  if  it  harmonizes  with  the  interests  of 
the  Empire,  and  if  not,  that  independence  will  be 

97 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  the  German  god.  They  have 
Germanized  the  very  heavens.  They  have  lent  to 
the  Being  who  stood  for  love  and  justice  sentiments 
unworthy  of  a  Turk!  I  am  not  speaking  without 
knowledge.  I  have  seen  them  victorious  and  de- 
feated. I  have  seen  them  in  battle  and  in  prayer. 
I  have  seen  them  from  Prussia  and  from  Bavaria, 
and  all  breathe  the  same  spirit  of  selfish  and  arro- 
gant pride,  of  hatred,  of  domination  at  all  costs  and 
by  all  means.  I  have  seen  the  maimed  children,  the 
slaughtered  women,  and  the  tortured  old  men.  I 
have  seen  poor  French  prisoners  crucified  naked  on 
the  edge  of  a  trench  to  frighten  their  comrades,  and 
more  and  more.  No  mercy,  no  chivalry,  no  honor; 
all  sacrificed  that  the  Kaiser  may  rule  over  the  land 
of  our  forefathers  and  bring  to  it  the  blessings  of 
superior  morality  and  Kultur! 

On  January  10,  1915,  a  naval  lieutenant  writes  to 
his  sister: 

France  faces  with  the  utmost  calm  the  probability 
that  the  war  may  last  another  year  or  more.  We  are 
resolute  and  prepared.  We  look  for  victory  entire  and 
absolute,  not  the  annihilation  of  the  German  race,  as 
our  enemies  accuse  us  of  saying,  but  the  annihilation 
of  the  military  caste  which  is  brutalizing  the  race. 
JThis  war  on  war  is  the  noblest  cause  possible,  and  the 

98 


THE  FUTURE 

people  who  are-  with  us  in  it  will  be  forever  ennobled 
by  it. 

Things  are  going  well.  The  Germans  retreat  only 
foot  by  foot  to  be  sure,  but  the  unexpected  duration 
of  the  war  makes  them  lose  daily  the  benefit  of  their 
long  and  careful  preparation,  while  it  permits  us 
and  our  Allies,  the  English,  to  provide  the  men  and 
supplies  which  we  lacked  at  the  start.  Prussia  is 
under  no  illusion  about  this ;  the  German  newspapers 
prove  it.  I  was  at  dinner  a  few  days  ago  under 
General  X's  tent  with  several  officers  of  the  general 
staff.  When  the  General  spoke  of  the  time  that  was 
still  needed  for  France  to  win  a  complete  victory, 
there  was  a  scene  of  intense  emotion,  and  all  those 
fine  soldiers  cried  in  spontaneous  patriotism,  "Yes, 
yes,  we  will  conquer  or  die !" 

On  July  18,  1915,  an  officer  of  reserves  writes: 

You  ask  me  what  the  opinions  are  in  this  region 
on  the  subject  of  the  winter  campaign.  I  think  I 
can  tell  you.  When  the  winter  campaign  was  men- 
tioned men  shrugged  their  shoulders  at  first. 

After  reflecting  on  all  the  pending  questions  people 
here  have  gradually  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a 
winter  campaign  is  necessary  (1)  to  allow  Russia  to 
regain  her  lost  ground,  (2)  to  allow  the  Allies  to 
secure  a  decided  advantage  over  the  Bodies  in  the 

99 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

supply  of  munitions,  and  (3)  to  allow  the  Allies  to 
make  the  blockade  more  stringent  against  Germany. 
People  have  come  to  this  position  not  with 
joy  but  with  firm  deliberation.  We  realize  that 
we  are  where  we  are  in  this  war  because  we  were 
too  little  prepared.  The  Germans  foresee  every- 
thing, even  the  impossible.  Let  us  learn  to  be  as 
prudent  as  they,  but  with  the  ingenuity  of  the 
Frenchman.  Then  our  victory  is  certain.  And  if  it 
turns  out  that  the  winter  campaign  is  not  needed, 
there  will  be  no  reproach  upon  us  for  having  pre- 
pared for  it. 

At  the  beginning  of  July  a  Frenchwoman  wrote: 

We  are  having  fine  summer  weather.  The  country 
is  beautiful,  but  how  sad !  No  youth,  no  songs  in  the 
fields,  no  joyous  laughter;  we  shall  never  laugh  again 
in  France,  I  fear.  How  can  we?  The  younger  gen- 
eration will  forget  these  days  perhaps,  but  ours  will 
carry  to  the  grave  the  burden  of  this  bloody  drama. 

Even  after  the  temporary  retreat  of  the  Russians, 
French  energy  did  not  flag.  Nobody  was  under 
an  illusion  as  to  the  length  of  the  war,  but  the  morale 
continued  unimpaired.  The  officers  and  soldiers  at 
the  front  are  allowed  from  time  to  time  to  return  to 
the  rear,  and  their  presence  always  dispels  gloom  and 
melancholy,  leaving  only  hope  in  the  heart.  One  of 
the  civilians  thus  cheered  by  their  presence  writes  on 
July  19,  1915: 

100 


THE  FUTURE 

Warsaw  is  captured.  They  will  turn  back  on  us. 
But  let  us  have  confidence.  Our  soldiers  are  won- 
derful, so  full  of  hope  and  courage.  Still,  when  one 
sees  them,  one  knows  what  they  have  endured.  They 
all  have  a  tragic  look,  but  they  are  filled  with  energy 
and  zeal,  even  though  they  are  under  no  illusion  as 
to  the  possible  duration  of  the  war. 


"A  little  child  shall  lead  them."  One  of  the  chil- 
dren of  France  wrote  near  the  beginning  of  the  war 
these  lines  of  prophetic  confidence: 

We  shall  come  out  victorious  and  France,  that  most 
beautiful  nation,  will  resume  its  peaceful,  pros- 
perous life.  War  will  yield  finally  to  peace  and  men 
will  live  happily  forever. 

Pierre. 


V 
LAST  LETTER 


LAST  LETTER 

To  the  Editor  op  the  French   newspaper  Le 
Matin  op  September  8,  1915: 

THREE  weeks  ago  I  arrived  in  your  country 
which  I  had  left  on  the  fifth  of  September, 
1914.  At  that  moment  I  was  carrying  away  with 
me  the  great  spectacle  of  your  mobilization.  This 
solemn  and  magnificent  rising  of  the  manhood  of  a 
whole  people  had  left  in  my  mind  the  image  of  a 
quasi-religious  spectacle  in  its  splendid  solemnity. 
During  the  mobilization  I  had  many  talks  with  the 
soldiers  and  from  these  conversations  I  had  derived 
a  great  deal  of  hope  and  comfort.  Ever  since  I 
left  you,  I  have  thought  so  often  of  these  brave 
people,  who  without  noise  or  boast  but  in  silent  dig- 
nity went  forth  to  a  war  of  national  defense  and  of 
justice,  that  I  was  most  anxious  to  see  them  again 
and  at  the  same  time  to  revisit  the  several  hundred 
Alsatian  and  Belgian  refugee  children  that  some  of 
my   compatriots    and    I    had   been    able   to    gather 

105 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

together  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  and  who  with 
many  others  since  collected  are  to-day  scattered 
about  in  colonies  throughout  the  various  depart- 
ments of  France. 

Thanks  to  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Delcasse,  I  was 
allowed  the  rare  privilege  of  traversing  the  roads 
through  the  army  zone  between  Paris  and  Nancy, 
and  went  up  to  the  first  lines.  What  I  saw  gave  me 
an  impression  as  strong  and  as  favorable  as  that 
of  the  mobilization.  All  these  men  who  went  away 
with  such  calm  and  resolution  remained  in  the  same 
state  of  mind,  with  perfect  confidence  in  the  final 
victory  of  France  and  of  their  chiefs.  Everywhere 
I  saw  signs  of  the  old  gaiete  frangaise.  Nowhere 
did  I  hear  the  slightest  murmur  of  complaint 
Everyone  was  doing  his  duty.  The  war  might  well 
be  very  long  and  very  painful,  but  the  result  was 
sure.  Already  they  had  acquired  the  moral  supe- 
riority, and  if  ever  the  enemy  came  out  of  his 
trenches  his  defeat  was  certain. 

I  saw  villages  in  Lorraine  utterly  ruined  and 
destroyed  by  the  Germans.  I  well  remember  one 
day  spent  at  Gerbeviller.  The  women  and  the  old 
men  told  me:  "We  have  returned.  It  was  indeed 
necessary  to  replant  the  fields  and  to  take  up  life 
again,"  and  in  this  village,  completely  burned,  where 
I  learned  that  more  than  one  hundred  civilians  were 
shot,  everybody  was  smilingly  at  work.     The  fields 

106 


LAST  LETTER 

had  been  tilled  as  perfectly  as  usual  and  the  crops 
were  beautiful.  Scattered  about  here  and  there, 
throughout  the  fields,  were  little  red  patches  of 
flowers,  surmounted  by  a  white  cross,  under  which 
the  defenders  of  Lorraine  slept.  One  who  has  not 
seen  it  cannot  understand  how  a  visitor  is  moved 
by  the  spectacle  of  this  strength  of  soul. 

But  what  is  most  painful  for  us  Americans  in  all 
this  is  the  proof  that  this  war  was  a  war  of  sys- 
tematic destruction,  a  war,  as  my  friend  Mr.  Emile 
Boutroux  said  to  me  in  its  beginning,  conducted 
with  scientific  barbarism.  It  is  not  merely  that 
drunken  soldiers  pillaged  the  villages.  Here  and 
there  a  house  remains  standing,  evidently  spared 
because  it  had  borne  a  certain  mark.  The  rest 
were  systematically  burned.  Everything  was  done 
with  discipline  and   order. 

We  are,  at  home  in  the  United  States,  somewhat 
in  the  same  state  of  mind  that  France  was  before 
the  war,  believing  in  humanity,  in  justice,  in  pity, 
and  we  have  to  see  the  traces  of  this  methodically 
calculated  carnage  and  destruction — we  have  to  see 
this  country  so  systematically  devastated,  as  the  Ger- 
mans of  Caesar's  time  could  not  have  devastated  it, 
to  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  things  which  we  read 
in  our  newspapers.  We  are  apt  to  think  that  there 
must  be  a  large  part  of  exaggeration  in  all  this  and 
that  Prussian  militarism  should  not  be  judged  by  a 

107 


WAR  LETTERS  FROM  FRANCE 

few  isolated  atrocities.     Now  I  know  the  truth  and 
will  not  hesitate  to  repeat  it  again  and  again. 

One  man  who  had  witnessed  the  assassination  of 
the  hostages  of  Gerbeviller,  another  who  had  seen 
the  murder  of  the  Mayor  of  Senlis,  told  me  of  these 
things  in  accents  of  simplicity  and  sincerity  that 
bore  out  the  official  reports.  They  told  me  of  the 
cynical  propositions,  the  brutal  jests  with  which 
the  German  soldiers  carried  on  their  enterprise  of 
devastation  and  murder  and  there  was  in  their  re- 
citals so  much  simplicity,  loyalty  and  candor  that 
little  doubt  could  remain  in  one's  mind. 

When  in  the  face  of  such  an  enemy,  unchained, 
after  a  year  of  war,  one  returns  to  find  France 
serene  and  without  anxiety  about  the  ultimate  result 
one  understands  that  if  man  is  stronger  than  nature 
by  his  intelligence,  he  is  stronger  than  injustice 
by  his  morality. 

All  these  things  seen  at  close  range  convince  us 
Americans  that  France  can  never  be  vanquished; 
that  she  retains  the  same  greatness  of  soul  that  has 
persisted  through  the  centuries  since  the  barbarian 
invasions ;  that  stronger  to-day  than  she  has  ever 
been,  she  will,  after  the  war,  be  more  respected  and 
more  admired  than  she  was  during  her  greatest 
centuries  of  glory. 

Frederic   R.   Coudert. 
(1) 


DUE  DATE 

|Mki   *-r        Lift 

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HUA     «w 

V  U    J  177 

1 

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